


Ducks in a Row

by MG12CSI16



Series: Ducks in a Row [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Daddy Sherlock, Domestic, F/M, Family, Feels, Fluff, Humor, Parent Fic, eventual Sherlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because showing up and sticking around are two completely different things. Sherlock must prove he's capable of fatherhood and work through the tangled webs that are his feelings for Molly, and vice versa. A look at their first year of parenthood. Eventual Sherlolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** 3 days old **

At three days old, Annabelle Scarlet Holmes is ready to leave the hospital.

She’s bundled tightly in a pink, wool blanket as Sherlock hugs her close to his body, walking alongside Molly’s wheelchair and watching her green eyes wander. By now he considers himself an expert at holding her, only coming close to actually dropping her once. Thankfully, John had been the only witness.

Molly is never to find out.

He was more than ready to leave the hospital, the sounds and smell of disinfectant beginning to drive him mad. He glances in Molly’s direction, meeting her dark eyes and smiling gently when she reaches up and strokes the tiny hand that sticks out of the blanket, the chubby pink fingers gripping her own in a fist.

Exiting the metal doors of the hospital they’re met with a cool breeze that’s fairly common in April, but it’s still cold enough that Sherlock shields his daughter from it as he lays her head in the crook of his neck and breathes in the scent of baby powder. John is waving at them from the curb, holding open the car door and showcasing the car seat he put together himself, pride oozing from his smile.

“Took me a while but I eventually got the thing together. Apparently you can’t take the baby home unless it’s set up properly.” As he talks he offers a smile at the bundle in Sherlock’s arms and strokes the top of her head. He had fallen in love with the little girl the moment he saw her.

Molly thanks John and slips into the backseat, holding out her arms to take Annabelle from her father, who almost seemed hesitant to let her go.

“Come on Sherlock, give her here. I want to get home so she can see her nursery.” Sherlock snorts as he hands Annabelle to her mother, missing the warmth from her tiny body almost instantly.

“There’s no rush. She won’t even know what she’s looking at.” Molly scowls as her fingers work to secure the clasps of the car seat, making sure they’re snug before she sits back and blows out a tired breath.

“Yes, but it’s still special Sherlock. It’s her first room and I want to see her in it.” She narrows her eyes as they meet his through the rearview mirror, playfulness hidden in the brown depths. Sherlock sighs but drops the argument as he steers the car onto the road and proceeds with extreme caution.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, thanks to Sherlock’s cautionary driving and the argument that he was only putting the baby first, they arrive at Molly’s flat. He helps her up the stairs as he juggles Annabelle’s car seat, the newborn fast asleep inside. It’s early evening now and a light rain has begun to fall as the soothing sound fills the house that’s been abandoned for the last few days.

Without stopping the new parents walk to the nursery, opening the door and revealing the yellow walls and the smell of new clothes and toys. As Molly removes Annabelle from the car seat Sherlock looks at the room again, having only been inside once.

Unlike the first time he notices the pictures of Molly and her family set up on the white dresser and the stuffed animals lining the shelves on the wall. As he inspects the pictures further he sees her mother and father, her brother and herself.

He doesn’t see a single one of him.

In fact there’s no evidence in this room to suggest he even exists and he pretends it doesn’t hurt. Of course while it comes as no surprise he still feels like he’s missing from his daughter’s life despite his so far involvement. It occurs to him only now that this is as much of a game as the rest of his life and he’s going to have to prove himself.

His thoughts are interrupted by Molly’s voice, cooing softly as she rocks Annabelle back and forth and shows her each part of the room, kissing the top of her head every now and then as if she’ll slip away. Sherlock licks his lips as he watches, entranced by the sight and feeling fearful at the same time. He knows his daughter isn’t going to be this tiny forever and the thought of her growing up to rely on his advice and learn from him terrifies him still.

“Did you paint these?” he asks aloud, trying to form a conversation now that the silence has become overwhelming. Molly glances over and sees him pointing a finger at one of the lions on the wall.

“No, a friend of mine did. She’s a brilliant artist; practically fell out of her chair when I asked her to decorate the place for me.” She smiles as she recalls the memory, shifting Annabelle in her arms as she starts to fuss, tears rolling down her pink cheeks as she wails. Sherlock is on high alert almost instantly, approaching Molly and peering at the obviously angry little girl with a worried glance.

“Is she supposed to be that loud? Perhaps she needs medical attention.” The suggestion, while completely off, makes Molly giggle. She gingerly transfers the baby into Sherlock’s arms and strokes her dark curls.

“Oh she’s just hungry, aren’t you little one? Just keep holding her while I heat a bottle, I’ll just be a moment.” As she walks out the door Sherlock has the strong urge to call her back, looking down at his screaming daughter and grimacing. Her tiny fists shook in the air while her cheeks were now a bright red stained with tears. To top it off he had absolutely no clue what to do.

_It’s just a few minutes. Molly will be right back._

He tries to reassure himself as he gently rocks back and forth on his feet, shushing Annabelle in hopes she’ll stop crying. It unfortunately does little to soothe her and he swallows as he begins to wonder if he’ll ever be any good at this.

While the self-doubt had been gnawing at him since he first got word of the pregnancy the feelings had skyrocketed when he came face to face with the tiny life he had helped create. Her innocence made him fear her, not because she reminded him of those he belittled and looked down on, but because she was so impressionable and for the next while she always would be.

She was going to look up to him, expect the answers to questions even Sherlock Holmes might now have and that thought is something he doesn’t care to think about. But thankfully, he’s saved from the worrisome thought as Molly appears in the doorway, carrying a bottle and a purple rag she tosses over her shoulder. She gives Sherlock a sympathetic glance as she takes in his face, flushed and filled with utter helplessness.

“Oh, come here darling. Daddy just isn’t sure what’s what yet but don’t worry, we’ll sort him out real quick.” She scoops the baby out of his arms and settles in the wooden gliding rocking chair in the corner, nestling her in the crook of her arm as she offers the bottle. And at once, the crying stops.

Sherlock is thankful and he watches the interaction between mother and daughter with awe. Wide green eyes are surveying the room as she sucks on the bottle, blinking every so often as she settles into her mother’s warmth. He feels one corner of his mouth tip up in a half smile and his eyes lock with Molly’s. He knows he’ll never doubt her abilities as a mother.

Shortly after she finishes her bottle, Annabelle falls asleep as Molly rocks her, her tiny lips parted slightly as she breathes. Sherlock watches her chest rise and fall, blinking rapidly if he misses it. She’s carried to Molly’s room and tucked into her bassinette near the bed, covered with a blanket and kissed on the forehead by both her mother and father. For what seems like the first time since they’ve walked in the new parent breathe.

They slink into the kitchen with exhausted steps, trying not to remember that this is what life will feel like for at least the next five years as they collapse into kitchen chairs and watch the rain as it beats against the window outside.

“She’ll need to eat again in the next few hours,” Molly says quietly, gathering her hair and tying it with an elastic. Sherlock holds back a sigh and looks over to her.

“I’ll do it.” He offers, much to Molly’s surprise. She hides the smile trying to work its way onto her face.

“Does that mean you’ll stay tonight?” he looks over and sees the gratitude and pure happiness on her face, making it impossible to take the words back now. His only answer is a small nod and a smile. 


	2. Chapter 2

** Two weeks old **

When Annabelle is two weeks old, Sherlock and John officially master the art of diaper changing.

It starts when John accompanies Sherlock to Molly’s for a visit, babbling on about how he should see her more and Sherlock shouldn’t hog his daughter as much as he does. As they reach the front door John prepares to knock but Sherlock pushes his way inside, leaving John on the porch and peering inside curiously.

“John, you’re letting the cold air in. Get inside.” Sherlock’s voice takes on a scolding tone as it calls to John, making the doctor smile and shakes his head as he shuts the door behind him and kicks off his shoes. He’s about to take a seat on the couch when a flustered Molly comes scrambling down the hallway with pursed lips as she muttered under her breath. She spots him and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank goodness. I was hoping you came with him this time.” Relief is mixed in with the exhaustion in her voice as she slips into her coat just as Sherlock appears with Annabelle in his arms.

“I need to run to the market,” she announces, “we’re out of formula, and frankly, I could use some fresh air.” She turns to Sherlock and bends down to press a kiss to Annabelle’s forehead.

“Be sure to change her,” she says, picking up her keys, “you know where the diapers are.” She’s out the door before either man can open their mouth and suddenly, they’re left alone with the new baby. John glances at Sherlock who is looking down at Annabelle as if she’s grown another head.

Apparently it’s one thing to be with your daughter while her mother is in the room but when paired with only your best friend who has about as much experience with children as you do it’s like something out of a horror story.

And as if on cue, she starts to fuss.

For a moment both men are silent and they take turns looking at the little girl in Sherlock’s arms, her nose scrunched up in obvious agitation. John blows out a breath and clasps his hands together behind his back.

“Well then, I guess we should change her, huh?” Sherlock looks at John as if he’s suggesting they rob a bank, but eventually he sighs and leads the way to the nursery. Inside they gently lay the crying baby on the changing table and John talks to her in a high pitched voice Sherlock finds ridiculous.

“I really don’t think that’s helping. If anything she’s getting louder.” Sending a scowl in his friend’s direction he accepts the diaper and wipes being handed to him as Sherlock removes the tiny pink onesie and sets it aside. Clapping his hands together in front of him he looks at John as if expecting something. All he can do is raise an eyebrow.

“What? Don’t you know what you’re doing?” His tone is slightly accusing and Sherlock huffs in response. Of course he knew what he was doing. He’s watched Molly do it at least twice.

“Don’t be stupid, of course I know what I’m doing. Hand me one of those wipes will you?” John obliges and Sherlock takes the wipe before carefully taking the soiled diaper off his daughter. Both his face and John’s scrunches up and the two share a look.

Sherlock carefully cleans the crying little girl and once he’s finished sends a triumphant look in John’s direction, obviously pleased with his work. In return John smirks and folds his arms across his chest.

“You do realize you still have to put the new diaper on her, right?” The smile falls almost as quickly as it was formed and Sherlock can only grumble under his breath when John hands him a clean diaper and sits back to watch.

 Almost five minutes later Sherlock is still wrestling with Annabelle and the new diaper, tiny legs flailing in the air as he tries to maneuver her into the diaper. By now, John has stepped in to help and the two men argue over which way the diaper is supposed to go and whose hand is in the way. The bickering continues until finally there’s a triumphant laugh and the two of them stand back to admire their handiwork before Sherlock scoops Annabelle up and rubs her back soothingly.

“Well that wasn’t so bad,” John says, hoping Sherlock didn’t pick up on the weariness in his voice. In all honesty, he never knew babies were so complex.

“Ah, I see you two have become masters at diaper changing.” The duo spins around and sees Molly smiling at them, looking slightly calmer than she had before. Sherlock smiles, trying to look convincing and tells Molly it was a piece of cake and there was no way two grown men would ever have trouble putting a diaper on an infant.

John nods, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

With a raised eyebrow, Molly moves forward and takes Annabelle from Sherlock, cooing in her ear and carrying her to the kitchen for her bottle. It’s obvious she doubts the story but thankfully she says nothing. As soon as she’s out of sight they each are able to breathe a sigh of relief.

“She is never to know about this, alright?”

John smiles and holds back a giggle. “Of course.”

Eventually John catches a cab home, needing to prepare for his shift and before he goes he’s sure to hug Molly and kiss Annabelle, promising to visit again very soon. Molly can tell the little girl will have him wrapped around her finger.

As she prepares to settle in for the night she sits on the couch, Annabelle resting in her swing next to the couch. Her green eyes try hard to stay awake but the soothing motion soon has her asleep and Sherlock watches with a smile, settled on the couch beside Molly.

“I’m so glad you have John for a friend,” she tells him, her eyes on the TV although he’s sure she’s not actually watching it. He folds his hands in his lap and looks at her, curious.

“And why is that?” There’s a pause as she yawns, stretching before settling back against the couch.

“I don’t know. You always seem to be at your best when he’s around. And I can tell he loves that little girl as much as you do.” She smiles in Annabelle’s direction and looks back at Sherlock, cocking her head to one side. “I knew you could do this, Sherlock. I knew from the very beginning.”

She reaches up and drops a light kiss on his cheek and his face flushes slightly. He swallows thickly and runs a nervous hand through his hair, but something inside of him is alive with a new feeling he hasn’t felt since he was told he would be a father.

He’s hopeful.

And it makes him smile. 


	3. Chapter 3

** One month old **

Annabelle makes her first trip to 221B when she’s one month old.

At first, Molly’s a bit nervous. She hasn’t been there since Sherlock had all but thrown her out, meaning her last memories are anything but pleasant. Still, Sherlock had insisted they both come visit and since John was at work it would give them time to spend together. She found she couldn’t say no even if she wanted to. The drive from her flat to his is relatively short and Annabelle coos in the backseat the entire trip, as if she knew exactly where they were going. The thought warms Molly’s heart and eases her nerves.

To her surprise, Sherlock is waiting outside when they arrive, hands in the pockets of his coat as he glances up and down the streets. When he sees her car he smiles and pulls her in for a small hug, something he had been doing lately. Molly wasn’t sure what to make of it; they never did talk about an actual relationship. She considers herself lucky she at least had a man who would take responsibility. At this point the only thing that’s constantly on her mind is Annabelle and her wellbeing.

Even Sherlock Holmes could wait when it came to that.

As the hug ends Sherlock opens the backseat and removes Annabelle, holding her tightly and kissing her hair. She still smells of baby powder and sunshine.

“We should hurry, Mrs. Hudson’s practically paced a hole in the floor waiting for the two of you.” He leads them inside and up the stairs where they’re practically ambushed by the older woman, who pulls Molly into a bone crushing hug before turning all of her attention on the tiny person in Sherlock’s arms.  

“Oh, Sherlock dear, she’s absolutely gorgeous! Look at you little one.” She fusses at Annabelle as Sherlock transfers her into his landlady’s arms, smiling and motioning for Molly to follow him down the hallway once the two are content with each other. Molly looks back first, slightly doubtful. But when she sees the older woman cradling Annabelle and humming softly she’s able to smile and follows after Sherlock.

“I hope you’re not trying to show me one of your experiments,” she warns, coming to a stop outside of Sherlock’s bedroom where he’s now standing. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, annoyed.

“Unfortunately, no. When Mrs. Hudson found out you were coming she made me clean them all up. She spent a good hour scrubbing everything before she deemed it suitable for Annabelle. I want to show you what _I’ve_ done though.” He ushers her inside the bedroom and when she looks around she blinks several times. Just to make sure it’s all real.

While she’s never seen Sherlock’s bedroom before she’s positive it’s never looked like this. Everything is completely organized, books on shelves and clothes in the closet. It’s obvious it’s been cleaned recently but that’s not what really catches her eye. It’s the bassinette in the corner, along with a rocking chair much like the one in Annabelle’s nursery.

“What is all this?” she asks, moving to inspect the new furniture. Her hand glides over the smooth wood of the chair and she feels tears prick at her eyes. Sherlock appears beside her and he looks so utterly proud that it makes her laugh.

“I thought that in case you ever needed to bring Annabelle over that I should be prepared. John helped me put this thing together,” he tells her, nodding towards the bassinette, “and this is actually a gift from Mycroft.” He points at the rocking chair and his nose scrunches up with distaste at the mention of his brother.

At first, it’s almost too much to take in and Molly moves to take a seat on the bed, examining the whole room and realizing that Sherlock is actually trying to be a father. The thought makes her chest tight and she wipes away a tear that falls down her cheek. When Sherlock sees it, he looks panicked.

“Are you alright?” he joins her on the bed, leaving a bit of space between them. She takes a moment to collect herself before she pulls Sherlock into a hug and buries her face in his neck.

“Sherlock Holmes, this is by far the sweetest thing you’ve ever done.” Her voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt and he feels the tears bleed through it. Awkwardly, he pats her on the back until she releases him and dries her eyes, seeming rather embarrassed.

“Sorry about that. My hormones haven’t exactly evened back out yet.” She sniffs and looks at the bassinette again, and idea forming in her mind.

“Sherlock, would you like to keep Annabelle here with you one night? It’d probably be good for her to spend some time with you and with Mrs. Hudson here there’s only so much trouble you and John could get into.” When she looks at him again his eyebrows are furrowed in thought, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“I suppose it would be alright. John does like to whine about how little he sees her. If she stays here I’ll be able to see her and we’ll finally have a night without all the constant complaints.” Molly’s laughter sends wave of heat through him and he blushes.

Soon after making the arrangements to bring Annabelle to 221B for a ‘slumber party’ Molly announces it’s time for the two of them to leave. Sherlock swallows his disappointment as he bundles Annabelle up snuggly and carries her down the stairs after a quick goodbye from Mrs. Hudson.

Outside in the night air he buckles her safely in her car seat and turns to meet Molly, who watches him carefully. He carefully shuts the door and folds his arms across his chest.

“I’m glad you came,” he tells her, “I know Mrs. Hudson really appreciates it, as well as myself.” She nods her head quickly, licking her lips as she lets out a breath. Sherlock wonders why she won’t look at him.

“Well I guess you two better be off then,” he announces, standing back so Molly can slide into the car. He smiles at her and waves a goodbye through the window to Annabelle who’s fast asleep and completely unaware of the gesture.

As soon as he disappears inside of 221B she collapses back in her seat and sighs, running a hand over her face. It would be an utter lie if she said Sherlock’s actions didn’t evoke some sort of feeling within her, something different than before. Before she had thought of it as a crush, bordering on infatuation before that night in her flat. She had been almost positive then that it had morphed into actual love, and she ached for him when he left her bed the next morning.

But now, now she hadn’t the slightest idea what she was feeling. It was like electricity between the two of them and every time she touched him she risked being shocked. Of course one look at the sleeping little girl in the back seat was enough for her to clear her head and push Sherlock Holmes to the back of her mind.

At least for the time being.  


	4. Chapter 4

** Six weeks old **

As soon as the phone rings Sherlock practically dives to answer it.

By now it’s a reflex he can’t help and every time the nagging chime echoes through the house his mind wanders- actually, make that _sprints-_ to Annabelle and Molly. He supposes it’s the so called paternal instinct everyone tells him about, the constant fear that his child could possibly be in danger. He wants to find it annoying but it comes so natural to him that he can’t seem to muster the feeling.

And that is what annoys him.

But tonight he fears the instinct might be right because when he picks up the phone all he can hear is the glass shattering wail that could only be coming from his daughter, accompanied by Molly’s tear filled voice. Across the room John looks up from his tea, looking worried as Sherlock rushes around for his coat and shoes before Molly can even tell him what’s wrong.

Around Annabelle’s cries he hears, “Sherlock, please can you come over. I’m going absolutely mad right now.” She sniffles and murmurs something to Annabelle who doesn’t relent in the slightest bit. As he rushes down the stairs Sherlock tries his best to calm Molly down so he can assess the situation while he hails a cab.

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he needs a car.  

“Molly dear, you need to take a breath and tell me what’s the matter. Is someone hurt? Sick?” he waits ten whole seconds for an answer, surprised he doesn’t completely lose his mind. Molly has to suck in a few lungful’s of air before she can even proceed.

“No, no one’s hurt. It’s just this bloody colic. She’s been crying for the last three days ever since you left the other night and she just won’t stop.” He hears the music of Annabelle’s mobile and he can picture the two swaying back and forth around the nursery as the little girl wails and her mother tries her hardest to reassure her.

As he breathes a sigh of relief that the extent of both mother and daughter’s distress is nothing more than colic he manages to spout off Molly’s address to the cabbie and tries his hardest to console her through the phone.

It’s no doubt the trip was longer than it normally is and Sherlock’s leg had bounced up and down with the nerves the whole way, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he looked out the window. To the cabbie, he probably looked like a druggie desperate for a fix and he tries his best to ignore the accusing stare.

Upon pulling up at the curb across from the flat, Sherlock tosses his money in the front seat without offering a word; he’s too busy trying to get to the front door and once he gets there he can hear Annabelle crying. He eases the door open and sees Molly standing in the living room, rubbing and patting Annabelle’s back with exhaustion reflecting in her eyes and on her face.

When she sees Sherlock, relief washes over her features in a way that makes his stomach clench. It makes him feel needed, wanted. He smiles faintly and holds out his arms, finding his daughter in them in an instant. Molly immediately drops onto the couch and lets her head fall into her shaky hands.

As Annabelle continues to cry, Sherlock does his best to try and quiet her, talking to her and swaying in circles, offering her a pacifier only to have it spit back in his hand.

The battle between infant and parents continues for nearly two more hours.

And finally, while she still hasn’t gone to sleep her sobs have subsided to the occasional whimper and hiccup and she watches the room with wide eyes from the comfort of her swing. Molly and Sherlock, considered the losers of the fight, are collapsed side by side on the couch.

Molly’s eyes are closed but he can tell by her breathing that she hasn’t actually gone to sleep, a fact he finds surprising. He softly clears his throat to catch her attention, doing his best to avoid starting Annabelle on another rampage. Slowly she looks up at him and he can see the dark circles under her eyes clearly.

It does bring up a feeling of guilt from within him, realizing that Molly sacrifices so much more than he does. She constantly gives up sleep and time on her own, and while Sherlock may not need these things he’s suddenly grateful that they are in such easy reach to him had he suddenly decided he wanted them.

He lays a hand on Molly’s knee and gently squeezes, “Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll be fine; she seems content enough for now.” He smiles in Annabelle’s direction and watches the little girl who’s got her eyes on the pair, as if she’s dissecting every move they make.

Molly turns her head slightly to meet Sherlock’s eye and feels gratitude wash over her. It would be a complete lie if she said Sherlock hadn’t come far since Annabelle had been born and whenever she thinks he can’t surprise her anymore he does something that has her completely taken aback.

She realizes that maybe she hadn’t made a mistake after all.

“Thank you,” she says through a sigh, standing on wobbly legs, “Wake me up if she’s too much trouble for you, alright?” After a quick promise and a kiss to her now much calmer daughter, Molly makes her way to bed for the first time in almost three days.

* * *

When she wakes up and the sunshine is streaming through her window, she wonders if it’s a dream. She had collapsed into bed after trusting Sherlock with Annabelle which could only mean she hasn’t woken until now.

It also means Sherlock has stayed the night once again. The thought makes her heart beat a little faster.

 Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she sits up, pulling her knees to her chest and relishing the few moments she has to herself before she walks into the living room. Quietly she pads down the hallway on her tip toes, peeking into the nursery and smiling so wide she wonders if her cheeks will burst.

Sherlock, with the addition of the pink blanket that is much too small for him, is asleep in the rocking chair with Annabelle’s tiny body resting on his chest. Both fast asleep. She puts a hand over her mouth to quiet the chuckle that tickles her throat and steps into the room that’s bright with sunlight.

She carefully picks Annabelle up and the little girl stirs but immediately recognizes her mother and snuggles against her chest. At the loss of her body heat Sherlock stirs as well, blinking rapidly and looking very lost. When he sees Molly standing above him he blushes and runs a hand through his disheveled curls.

“Good morning,” he says, standing up and straightening his shirt, “I’m assuming you slept well?” He can see the visible change in her appearance and tenseness of her body, telling him the answer before she even nods in his direction.

“Very much, yes. Thank you for watching her.” Sherlock waves a dismissive hand in the air.

“It’s nothing. I don’t actually see why you thank me for taking care of our child. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do anyways?”

“Yes, but most men in situations like ours don’t act the way you do.” Her words surprise him, but then again he wasn’t aware of how _most men_ in a situation like theirs acted. Apparently he was doing much better than he had originally presumed.

And _that_ is what keeps him going.

“Alright then,” Molly announces, “who’s ready for breakfast, huh?” She smiles and carries Annabelle out of the room, and as Sherlock trails behind her he begins to suspect that this is what a family is truly like.


	5. Chapter 5

** 10 weeks old **

Sherlock looks around the room nervously, refusing to meet Molly’s concerned gaze.

He’s cradling Annabelle as she coos and grips part of his coat in her tiny fist, her green eyes looking up at him in curiosity. He smiles at her and smooth’s down her unruly hair that mimics his own in a way that seems surreal. 

He looks around the room again and this time he has the strongest urge to take her and make a run for it. The walls are painted a bright white, pictures of butterflies and bumblebees decorating them and making it seem a little brighter and more cheerful.

He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

He’s never like the doctors, and the thought of his own tiny daughter having to be there is something that makes his stomach tighten. But, according to Molly and Mrs. Hudson and John, this is something that must be done.

To keep his mind wandering Sherlock crosses the room for what seems like the hundredth time and finally, Molly sighs, frustrated.

“Sherlock, please relax. This will be over before we’ll all even realize it.” She stands up and approaches him, the smell of her perfume tickling his nose and bringing with it a sense of familiarity. Her hand brushes against his as she reaches out to stroke Annabelle’s hand; a tiny prick of electricity passing between them that makes his breath hitch.

Sherlock clears his throat and holds Annabelle closer. “Of course, I suppose I’m just a bit nervous. I’ve never likes needles, so I don’t see why she wouldn’t.” He nods down at the grinning baby in his arms and Molly’s face melts into a look of sympathetic understanding.

“I know. I’m nervous too.” She toys with a loose string on her sweater before looking up again. “But as soon as we’re done we can do something nice, the three of us.”

The suggestion sounds appealing, something he never thought he would say in a thousand years. But as time wore on and he watched Annabelle grow right before his eyes he found that he was desperate for moments like that. He was afraid if he blinked, he’d miss something.

He opens his mouth to suggest something when there’s a soft knock on the door and a woman with a warm smile and a clip board walks in. Molly immediately moves to shake her hand and say hello. Sherlock on the other hand, stays back and watches this stranger with guarded curiosity.

“And this must be Mr. Holmes,” she announces, holding out a hand in greeting. He’s about to refuse the handshake, but the look he gets from Molly changes his mind and he loosely shakes with the doctor.

She’s older than him, mid-forties with long brown hair and blue eyes. She seems nice enough and Sherlock relaxes slightly when she looks at Annabelle with almost as much admiration as John or Mrs. Hudson would. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he feels ready to jump out of his skin. 

At Dr. Hardin’s request, he releases Annabelle into her arms, watching closely with Molly tucked into his side as she chews on a fingernail. The warmth from her body is enough to make him relax slightly and together they listen, nodding when they’re asked a question and occasionally providing one of their own. Everything goes smoothly and they’re met with the conclusion that Annabelle is a very happy and healthy little girl.

Sherlock is about to breathe a sigh of relief before he hears the question he’s been dreading.

“And she’s due for vaccinations this visit right?” Swallowing thickly, he nods without saying a word, taking Annabelle back into his arms when Dr. Hardin finishes looking her over and leaves the room to gather the few things that she needs. He looks desperately at Molly who frowns.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that Sherlock Holmes; I don’t want to do this anymore than you, so please do not make me feel like the bad guy in all of this.” Her cheeks are tinged red, showing him how worked up she is and he begins to feel guilty.

He knows this isn’t her fault; it isn’t anybody’s. He’s simply just not prepared to watch his daughter receive a shot and he strangely feels no shame in it. Letting out a breath, he wraps his free arm around Molly and pulls her back into him. For some reason he feels like they’re all safer that way.

When Dr. Hardin finally comes back, she carries a tray of needles and syringes, tilting her head and smiling in sympathy at the young pair in front of her as she notices the tension and discomfort.

“I know, this is the hard part, but trust me she won’t even remember any of this by the time you walk out the door.” Her words do little to calm either of them but Sherlock puts on a straight face as he holds Annabelle and allows the doctor easier access to her tiny body. Molly has retreated back to her chair and watches, chewing her bottom lip now.

In the end, Sherlock ends up closing his eyes. He’s not even aware all of the shots have been given until he hears Annabelle’s wail grow impossibly louder than before, tiny nose scrunched up as tears roll down her chubby, red cheeks. Immediately Molly swarms him and takes the baby from his arms, burying her face in her hair and whispering soothing words as she rubs her back.

“Oh, what a brave little girl you are,” she says, walking back to Sherlock and pressing her face into his shoulder, seeking some form of comfort.

Sherlock vows he’s never coming back to the doctor. _Ever._

With Annabelle finally calm and sleeping in her car seat as Sherlock carries her to the car, he glances over and watches Molly for a moment. She’s calmed down considerably now, her cheeks back to their normal color and her eyes bright. When she looks up she catches him watching.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks around a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He racks his brain, desperate for something to say but completely unsure as to what that something is. He’s desperate not to ruin this, not to send her running for the hills and believing he’s an absolute mad man that could one day decide he wants nothing to do with her and then all of a sudden realize he can’t live without her. He settles for the only thing he can come up with.

“Why don’t we get some ice cream?”

He pretends he doesn’t see the smile on her face falter as she says, “Alright,” in a hushed voice before he mentally kicks himself.

Maybe it’s time he starts taking advice from John.


	6. Chapter 6

**S ixteen weeks old**

“Sherlock, would you stop that pacing? You’re driving me crazy.” John huffs loudly from his chair by the fire, watching the consulting detective move back and forth in front of him. He’d been pacing for the majority of an hour, waiting for Molly to arrive with Annabelle for her first official stay at Baker Street.

To say Sherlock was nervous was an understatement.

Even with John and Mrs. Hudson around, he still felt uneasy being alone with his daughter without supervision from Molly. He hated to admit it, but he relied heavily on her presence when caring for Annabelle and she seemed to only bring out the best of him in those circumstances. But, he supposes this is something he has to do eventually.

He turns to John, ready to offer a biting remark when he hears the door downstairs open and he smiles. He greets Molly when she comes into the den, carrying Annabelle’s car seat and a diaper bag that looked ready to burst. He carefully took the baby from her as she set the bag on the floor, waving at John who had already moved towards the carrier and began making faces, oblivious to Sherlock’s eye roll and Molly’s laughter.

“Alright,” she says, opening the bag and revealing what seems like the contents of the entire nursery, “I’ve brought her bottles and formula, plenty of diapers and her favorite blanket. She’s got a few toys too and if she starts to fuss for no reason be sure to give her one of the softer ones to chew on, and-“ before she can ramble any farther, Sherlock puts a finger to her lips.

“Molly, please, you’re worrying. John and I have got this under control, everything’s fine.” He doesn’t miss the teasing look in her eyes but she manages not to bring any of her thoughts out loud. The last thing she needs is to make Sherlock doubt his abilities.

Through a sigh she says, “Oh, I know. I’ve just never left her before and I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do with an empty house for once.”

“It’s called sleep, dear!” Mrs. Hudson calls from across the room where she’s just appeared, Annabelle looking on her lap. Molly grins and looks longingly in her daughter’s direction before walking over and kissing her forehead, pushing her dark curls back.

The more she looks at her, the more she realizes she looks exactly like Sherlock.

“Goodbye, love, I’ll be back to see you in the morning. You be sure to keep Daddy and Uncle John in line, alright?” She locks eyes with Mrs. Hudson as she straightens up and the old woman grins, understanding etched in her aging features.

“Don’t worry; I’ll keep an eye on this lot. You just go home and relax.” With her goodbyes out of the way and nothing more to keep her there Molly finally leaves and Sherlock looks around, both excited and nervous. It isn’t until John speaks up that he actually moves from his spot by the door where he said goodbye to Molly.  

“Why don’t we all have dinner and then we’ll find something to do?”

They come to the decision to order in, Chinese food scattered on the kitchen table while Sherlock warms a bottle in the microwave. When it’s done and he deems it safe for Annabelle to drink, he cradles her in one arm as he sits at the table with John. He manages to get the hang of eating with a baby in his arms and he becomes rather impressed with himself.

John thinks he’s just showing off.

After her meal and a quick change, Annabelle is placed on the floor with her blanket and a row of toys as Sherlock lies on his stomach in front of her, watching her as if she was a rare specimen he was observing.

“What are you doing?” John finally asks him, tired of watching and finally lowering himself down next to the pair. Sherlock gives him a look that suggests the answer to his question is fairly obvious and John internally regrets asking.

“I’m learning, John. How do you expect me to play with her when I’ve absolutely no idea what she likes?” He picks up a ring of plastic colorful keys and waves them in front of Annabelle before dropping them, watching green eyes light up as she smiles. John just rolls his eyes.

“She’s not a puppy, Sherlock; she isn’t just going to fetch it.” He picks up the keys and holds them out to her but she immediately loses interest and starts babbling instead. Sherlock grins and laughs, pretending it doesn’t hurt when John slaps his arm in retaliation.

 As it nears eight o’clock, Sherlock gets Annabelle ready for bed and settles into the rocking chair in the corner of his room. She’s wearing her orange pajamas with the monogramed butterfly on the front, wrapped snugly in her favorite pink blanket as she sucks on her pacifier. They settle into a rhythm as Sherlock hums a tune he would normally be playing on the violin and plays with her impossibly tiny fingers before he sighs and his face hardens.

“I know I don’t really know what I’m doing, but regardless of what your Uncle John says, I am trying. I think it’s only fair if we make a deal, just between the two of us. Alright?” He smiles when she grips his finger and blinks sleepily.

“I promise I will never stop trying to be good to you and your mother, even if it takes the rest of my life to get there, and in return you can promise to be a little patient with me and if I’m messing up you’ll let me know. You’ll tell me what I’m doing wrong and together we’ll fix it. We can learn together, how does that sound?” When he looks down again Annabelle is fast asleep and he carefully stands up and tucks her into her bassinet.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he stands back and watches the rise and fall of her tiny chest and feels his heart swell with pride knowing that he was capable of love like this. In the past it seemed like a fairy tale mothers would tell their children before bed knowing it wouldn’t come true. But it did, and the proof was in front of him, sleeping soundly in the form of the little girl who changed his life in a matter of moments.


	7. Chapter 7

**Eighteen weeks old **

As hard as he tries John can’t stop laughing, probably not even to save his life.

And in return, Sherlock glares at him as they walk through the store, muttering under his breath and pretending his cheeks aren’t a few shades darker than they normally are. He looks down at Annabelle who is content and happy with one of her tiny hands stuck in her mouth.

“John, I don’t want to wear this pouch. It’s absolutely ridiculous.” The whine in his voice is very evident today and all John can do is sigh as he grabs a loaf of bread and drops it into the cart.

“It’s not a pouch Sherlock, it’s a carrier. And I happen to think you look nice with it.” He tries to hide a smirk, failing and once again falling victim to an icy glare.

“You’re just saying that. I can’t believe I actually left the house wearing this.” He checks on Annabelle again, moving her grabbing hand away from the shelf of boxes she seems desperate to have as her own. In response to his remark John just rolls his eyes.

“Oh come off it. You and I both know you only wore that to kiss up to Molly. She’s the one who bought it anyway.” His voice is teasing, but also serious as if he were challenging Sherlock to deny his obviously growing feelings for Molly. While Sherlock may think differently John is not as blind as the detective likes to think and he sees the connection between the two.

Through another dramatic sigh, Sherlock says casually, “Would you happen to have any tips on what I should do about the… relationship, between Molly and I?”

For a moment John just stares, stopping the cart in the middle of the aisle and blinking a few times to be sure that it was Sherlock who is asking him for relationship advice. After he regains his composure he falls into step beside his friend and blows air out between his teeth.

“Well, I guess first we should figure out where you two are in this _relationship_ of yours.” He glances at Sherlock who in return raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not hard to figure out,” he retorts, “she’s the mother of my child and we take care of her together.” John squeezes his eyes shut. This was going to be about as difficult as he thought.

Calmly, he tells Sherlock, “That isn’t a real relationship, it’s a compromise. Or at least it was in the beginning. Honestly, Sherlock, are you sure about this? The last thing that poor girl needs after everything is to be thrown back into believing that you could possibly be the guy she’s looking for.”

Sherlock scowls and tries to cross his arms before he remembers Annabelle, and instead strokes her tiny head with such care that it still manages to make John grin.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure about this?” he challenges, keeping his voice low, “that may be my past but I think we can both say that what’s done is done and it’s time to move on. Of course if you don’t want to help me that’s fine. I could always find someone else to give me advice on women.”

Clenching his jaw John fires back with, “Oh yeah, like who? In case you’ve forgotten Lestrade is divorced and I’m the only other person who would even consider a conversation with you.” The looks in Sherlock’s eyes tells John he knows he’s defeated and with a grudgingly relents.

“Oh fine, just get on with it then.” They stop by the refrigerator holding the milk and as John grabs a carton he smiles.

“Alright then. First, have you thought about asking her on a date with you? You know, something without Annabelle or anyone else?”  Sherlock chews his lips and thinks, coming to the conclusion that ever since Annabelle was born the two have yet to be alone.

“No, now that I think about it.” He pauses and pretends to admire the display in front of him, reading the label on one of the soup cans and avoiding John’s eye. “How would I go about asking her though? She goes back to work soon and then we’ll really be pressed for time.”

John smiles, “Sherlock don’t worry. If Molly still harbors any of her old feelings for you then it shouldn’t be that difficult to get her to agree. After all she forgave you didn’t she?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, knowing John is enjoying this probably too much. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

They move toward the checkout line and lapse into silence, neither one daring to go any further in the conversation for now. Sherlock stands in front and empties the contents of their cart onto the belt and as he’s watching John feels something poke at him. Turning around he sees an older woman with white hair and a kind smile looking at him.

“Is that your husband, dear? Oh my, you two have such a precious little one.” She waves at Annabelle who is still strapped to Sherlock and somehow looking impossibly bored. All John can do is sputter.

“Oh, no ma’am we’re not-“

“Darling, can you hand me your card?” Sherlock calls suddenly, batting his eyelashes at John and holding out his hand. The old lady smiles and pats his arm, and all he can do is grit his teeth as he fishes for the card. As he hands it to Sherlock he grounds out.

“I really do hate you sometimes.”

* * *

As they carry the groceries up the steps of 221B and Mrs. Hudson helps remove Sherlock’s ‘pouch’, the three of them sit on the couch as John reveals Sherlock’s grand plan to ask Molly when she returns to pick Annabelle up.

 To say Mrs. Hudson was thrilled would be considered an understatement.

“Oh, Sherlock dear, that’s wonderful! You know the first time you brought her here I was almost certain there was something there between the two of you. And now with a baby and all this is just the right step…” The older woman continues to ramble as she disappears into the kitchen to make tea, leaving the men and Annabelle in the living room.

“What if she says no?” Sherlock asks suddenly, bouncing the baby on his knee. John looks at him and sees genuine worry, which is enough for him to awkwardly pat his friends arm and try to comfort him.

“Don’t think like that. Just be polite and understanding. It really isn’t all that hard.”

Sherlock snorts. “Easy for you to say.”

 As John opens his mouth to offer a rebuttal they hear the door open downstairs and Sherlock can make out the distinct sound of Molly’s flats against the wooden stairs. He looks at John with wide eyes and the doctor merely looks at him pointedly, a sign to just relax. As if on cue Molly appears in the doorway smiling.

“Hello,” she practically sings, moving to whisk Annabelle up in her arms. She kisses the dark curls and turns to John, offering a peck to his cheek.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on these two today,” she teases, “Hopefully they weren’t too much trouble.”

John waves dismissively. “No problem.” He glances at Sherlock and jerks his head towards Molly, who was now in conversation with Mrs. Hudson and after hesitating he stands up and clears his throat.

“Molly, can I speak to you for a moment?” she looks up, curious but nods her head and hands Annabelle to Mrs. Hudson before Sherlock leads her to a more private spot by the door.

“What is it Sherlock?” she looks worried and he appreciates it, knowing she cares for him the way she cares for Annabelle and vice versa. Swallowing thickly he looks down at his feet.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he assures her, “I was just wondering if perhaps sometime you and I could go for coffee or dinner. Just the two of us.” He feels his face burn with embarrassment but he catches Molly’s smile and he manages to catch his breath.

“That sounds lovely,” she says, giggling and reminding him of all the times she had chased after him before. The memory stirs something inside of him and he smiles too.

“Perfect. And of course Mrs. Hudson will babysit right?”

From the living room he hears, “I’m your landlady dear, not your babysitter.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Nineteen weeks old**

After a long day at the surgery, John comes home to a thankfully quiet flat.

At first he's worried, because nothing Sherlock does is quiet but he's so utterly exhausted that he pushes the thought to the back of his mind and moves instantly to the kitchen to boil water for his tea. He moves slowly around the kitchen, tidying up some of the stuff Sherlock has left out and when the kettle begins to hiss he makes his tea.

With his cup in hand he moves to his chair by the fireplace in hopes of relaxing, and for the first two minutes that's exactly what he does. But when he picks up the newspaper from the table where Sherlock has left it he's only able to open to the first article when he hears his name.

"John." He holds his breath and hopes that if he stays quiet Sherlock may just forget. But of course the detective is not about to give up on whatever it is he's doing and John curses under his breath and starts to wonder if he should have stayed at Mary's tonight.

"John," Sherlock calls him again, louder and seemingly more agitated than the first time. And when John doesn't move immediately from his seat he hears thundering footsteps as they come down the hallway and an exasperated Sherlock stops in front of him with arms folded over his chest.

John looks up warily. "What is it?"

"I need your help," Sherlock says, grabbing John's wrist and trying to tug him up. John however, is not budging and he yanks his hand back to rest in his lap.

"For God's sake Sherlock, I've just gotten home! Can't this wait?"

Sherlock throws his hands up in exasperation and shakes his head, sending his curls into a frenzy. "Of course not, John. I've only an hour until Molly arrives, and we can't afford to waste any of it!"

As Sherlock resorts to pacing the floor in front of him, realization suddenly dawns on John and he understands his needy flat mate's new behavior.

"What am I supposed to wear?" Sherlock calls loudly from his room, peering around the corner and fixing John with a pleading stare that makes him look like a panicked teenager. John, who is perplexed and slightly amused that Sherlock is suddenly worried about his appearance, rises from his chair and joins the other man in front of his closet, looking inside with curiosity.

As long as they'd been living together John has yet to actually be in Sherlock's room for more than a brief moment or two and he would be lying if he said he had never wondered what the detective kept in there (although in his mind he imagines body parts and beakers of suspicious liquids), he admits he's slightly disappointed to only see a few racks of clothing.

Either way he inspects the closet thoroughly, finding various button ups and pressed slacks, and even a coat or two. He doesn't, however, see anything that doesn't resemble what he wears every day. It all looks the same, dark colors and simple lines and cuts. John may not be a fashion expert, but he's almost sure there's supposed to be some kind of variety in any person's wardrobe.

He glances at Sherlock who fidgets and waits eagerly for his advice but all John manages to do is chew his bottom lip and look helplessly at the rows of clothes. Finally he sighs and tugs out a deep purple shirt he's seen Sherlock wear only a few times and some black slacks that look like they're in pretty good shape. He hands them to Sherlock and points across the hall to the bathroom.

"Go on then and try this. We'll see what it looks like and go from there." Dutifully, Sherlock grabs the pile of clothes and practically sprints to the bathroom.

After careful inspection John takes a seat on the end of the bed and waits for Sherlock to re-emerge. When he does he looks nice, the shirt fits him somewhat snuggly and the pants seem to do him well, so  
John reaches back in the closet and pulls out a nicer jacket and has Sherlock put it on. Stepping back to inspect his work he smiles victoriously.

He thinks about taking a picture as proof of his success as a onetime stylist.

"Well, I guess I can't say that your fashion sense is completely hopeless anymore," Sherlock sniffs while he looks at his reflection, straightening his jacket and catching John's glare in the mirror. The doctor opens his mouth to retort but Mrs. Hudson's voice floats up the stairs and he clamps it shut instead.

"Boys, company's here."

John gives Sherlock a smile, meant to comfort but he can see his friend is nervous and John actually understands why. It's probably not a long shot to say Sherlock hasn't been on many dates.

As both men trudge down the stairs they see Mrs. Hudson holding Annabelle and when Sherlock comes into view she immediately hands her off and he kisses the top of her head as he holds her close to him. When he turns around to ask John something he sees Molly instead and he stops, his breath hitching almost instantly.

"You look… lovely," he manages to say, although the words feel like cotton in his mouth. Molly's cheeks blush and she thanks him quietly before an awkward silence falls and the two of them seem to be in a staring match.

Feeling his presence may be needed, John steps in and quickly intervenes.

"Um, why don't Mrs. Hudson and I go ahead and take Annabelle upstairs and you two run along," He suggests, taking the baby and ushering Mrs. Hudson up the steps, looking back and winking at Sherlock. When they've gone, Sherlock blows air out between his teeth and offers Molly his arm.

"Shall we get started then?"

* * *

For the most part, dinner goes smoothly.

They settle on a quiet Italian restaurant a few blocks away and find themselves tucked away in a quiet corner ignited by candlelight. They talk while they wait for their food, mostly about work and Sherlock's case he recently closed, but eventually Molly steers the conversation away from work and onto the subject of them.

"Sherlock?" she asks around a mouthful of pasta. The detective looks up from his plate where he's pushed most of his food around, and he cocks an eyebrow in interest.

"Yes?"

Molly fixes her dark eyes on him and he sees questions hidden deep within them, fear mixed in and making it almost impossible for him to read her. It's clear there's an internal struggle and finally she has enough of teetering on the edge and instead blurts out: "What are we doing?"

And for once, Sherlock understands exactly what she means.

Folding his hands and resting his chin on them he sighs. "Honestly Molly? I've no idea. I've absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I was actually hoping you did, it would make this so much easier."

He's pleased when she giggles at his response and leans back in her chair. He takes this moment to look at her, and not just for a deduction but to actually  _look_ at her. Her brown hair is down, falling in waves over her shoulders and standing out against the soft red color of her dress.

Any other time he would consider it a moment of weakness, but right now all he could think about was how beautiful she looked and how her eyes seemed to look right through him. She was the only one who could do that, the only one who seemed to know what he was thinking besides himself and for that he's grateful.

"Sherlock," she says warily, pulling him back into reality to see her looking at him with a curious glance. Apparently he's been watching for a bit too long but she quickly pushes the issue aside and stands up to push her chair in.

Holding out a hand she urges him to follow her. "Come on, I think we should take a walk before we go home."

Never one to pass up a possible adventure, Sherlock slaps his money down on the table and slips his hand inside of hers.

And before he knows it he finds himself in the park, running down an empty side walk with his hand in Molly's and his mind completely void of anything else. He hears her laughter slowly subside as they reach a bench plop down on it, chests heaving slightly while they catch their breath.

"God, I feel like I'm seventeen again," she tells him, still holding on to his hand, "only this time I doubt my father will be waiting for us on the front porch when we get back." She looks up at him and giggles, the sound bringing back memories he feared were long forgotten.

"You know Sherlock; even though we don't know what we're doing, I'd rather not know with you than anyone else. It feels right, if I can even say that."

Sherlock is silent for a few seconds but he manages to open his mouth and ground out the words, "Me too."

Carefully, as if testing the waters Sherlock puts an arm around Molly and pulls her closer, feeling the heat of her body soak into him and bring with it comfort he doesn't remember ever being so desperate for. For some reason she feels right, like she's always belonged there and he can't shake the feeling no matter how hard he tries.

Bringing his lips closer to her ear and letting his breath travel the back of her neck he whispers, "I may not have a clue, but if you help me I'll do whatever I can to make this work."

And he will.

 


	9. Chapter 9

** Twenty four weeks old **

"Are you sure you have to go? She’s still not feeling better you know, I think it’s best if we’re both here today."  Molly glances to her right, seeing Sherlock standing in the doorway to her bedroom and leaning casually against the door frame while he watches her run the brush through her hair. He's got his arms folded across his chest and he's fixing her with a pleading look.

"You know I have to," she says pointedly, "the two of you will be fine. Just keep an eye on her fever alright?"

She stops beside him and offers a peck on the lips. He exhales sharply but accepts the kiss before he follows her to the living room, bending down to pluck Annabelle up from her playpen and rests her on his hip.

"And when will you return?" He asks, like he's conducting an interrogation and not speaking to his girlfriend. Even now the term girlfriend feels strange as it rolls of his tongue but he smiles internally.

Through a sigh Molly says, "I'll be home by six, so please try and stay out of trouble until then and don't hesitate to call John if you need anything; I really need to get some work done today." She offers them both another kiss and waves from the front door before she disappears and Sherlock looks down at Annabelle and cocks an eyebrow.

"Well young lady, what do you suppose we do first?" She coos in response but is almost immediately interrupted by a fit of coughing that has her chubby cheeks turning red with the force. Patting her back he walks to the kitchen and pulls a bottle from the fridge, putting in the microwave and leaning against the counter as he waits.

While he waits for the bottle Annabelle continues to cough and fuss, becoming a wriggling mass in his arms. He exhales sharply, wishing there was something he could do for her. He contemplates calling John for a moment but he knows the doctor will only tell him exactly what Molly already has and the thought annoys him as he takes the bottle and the baby to the couch.

Normally, they have no problems when it comes to Annabelle and meal time, but now Sherlock was lucky just to get a few mouthfuls of formula into her before she began struggling against him. Finally fed up with not knowing what to do, he grabs his cellphone and calls John anyways.

The other man picks up on the second ring.

_“Yes Sherlock?”_

Sherlock frowns, “Well don’t sound so happy to hear from me John.” The doctor sighs and Sherlock can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

_“I’m awfully busy today Sherlock; what can I help you with? Is Annabelle still sick?”_

“Yes, she won’t eat. There’s got to be something I can do for her?”

_“There’s not much,” he answers, “she’s much too young for cold medicine but you can try taking her in the bathroom and turning the shower on. The steam will help clear her up a bit.”_

“That’s all?” Sherlock scoffs. On the other end John huffs, obviously annoyed at the doubt in his friends voice.

_“I’m afraid that’s all I can suggest right now Sherlock. Now I have to get back to work. Call me later if you want.”_

After the line goes dead he sets the bottle down, irritated and upset, and carries Annabelle to the bathroom and then shutting the door behind him and turning on the tap, letting steam fill the small bathroom like John said.  

They stay in there for a while and try to soothe the coughing and for a while it seems to work. The baby calms down enough that Sherlock is able to change her and put on some clean pajamas before they settle back in the bedroom, Annabelle on Sherlock’s chest as he reads a book aloud to her.

In no time the sound of his voice is enough to lull her to sleep and he sets the book aside, savoring the moment and the time he gets to spend with his daughter. He makes a mental note to thank John for the suggestion later and flips the lamp on the bedside table off, snuggling with Annabelle and succumbing to his exhaustion.

* * *

The first thing Molly notices when she comes home is how quiet it is.

She wonders if it’s a bad sign, because normally when she comes home after a long day the logic in everyone else’s mind in to create seemingly as much noise as possible. So after taking a breath for courage she starts down the hallway, making her first stop in the nursery but finding it empty and dark.

She bites her lip in curiosity and heads to the bedroom, noticing the door is closed and when she pushes it open she sees father and daughter asleep on the bed with a discarded story book beside them. She smiles, moving quietly to lift the baby off Sherlock’s chest and feeling her tiny face.

“Well it looks like your fever’s gone little one,” she whispers softly as she carries the sleeping infant to her room, tucking her into the crib and covering her with her blanket. Satisfied that Annabelle is content for now she pads back to the bedroom, stripping off her coat and tossing it aside.

Carefully she crawls on the bed and lies beside Sherlock, feeling him stir besides her best efforts. He blinks sleepily at her and smiles before it melts off his face and he notices something is missing. Giggling at his face Molly leans forward and pulls him towards her, kissing his lips.

“She’s in bed, out like a light.” She kisses him again and he pushes her back, rolling on top of her and listening to her giggle.

“I guess I just have that effect,” he laughs, kissing her collar bone tenderly. She sighs happily beneath him and runs her hand through his hair, cupping his face.

“Will you stay again tonight?” she asks. Lately it’s been harder watching him go back to Baker Street and even though his stays at her flat have been more and more frequent she feels like she doesn’t see enough of him.

Looking up at him with wide eyes she sees the smile take over his face as he brushes back her hair. “It’s a little late to get rid of me now don’t you think?”

She answers him with a kiss, melting into his warmth like putty in his hands. The power he holds over her is something she’ll never understand but as she succumbs to him and the feel of his hands she’s almost sure she doesn’t mind. 


	10. Chapter 10

** Twenty six weeks old **

It’s early afternoon when Sherlock’s phone buzzes on the table, drawing his attention from his conversation with John by the fire. His hand flashes out to grab it, seeing Lestrade’s name take up the screen. He smiles victoriously as he reads the contents and looks at John, who can tell just by watching that they’ve caught a case.

Even though he won’t say it, he’s been waiting for a case almost as long as Sherlock.

“What it is then? A murder?” Sherlock looks up and nods, excitement flooding his features as he searches for his coat.

“Yes, a good one it seems to. Lestrade’s got nearly half the force down there and they haven’t a clue. Of course it’s nothing surprising, they’ll hire nearly anybody these days let alone someone with actual intellect.” John rolls his eyes but ignores the comment, ready to follow Sherlock downstairs when he remembers something and stops dead in his tracks.

His eyes flash back towards the bedroom. “Uh, Sherlock? I think we’ve forgotten something.”

The detective turns around and looks at John with a raised eyebrow, looking skeptical. “And what would that be?”

“Your daughter.”

 Sherlock pauses, clearly just remembering Annabelle who had been asleep for the last hour. He turns to call for Mrs. Hudson but quickly remembers she’s out and hasn’t the slightest clue when she’ll be back. Biting his lip he glances at John. And John of course, can read his mind like and open book.

“No. Absolutely no way in hell Sherlock. She’s a baby for god’s sake!” he protests loudly, but Sherlock just sighs and rushes past, into the bedroom where John can hear him rustling with something. He pinches the bridge of his nose and waits for Sherlock to come back, nearly falling over when the dark haired man comes back wearing the baby carrier with a sleepy Annabelle riding inside.

Suddenly the urge for a case goes right down the drain.

“Sherlock, no. do you have any idea what Molly would say if she found out we took her daughter to a crime scene? Not to mention Lestrade wouldn’t even let us in.”

Sherlock just snorts. “Of course he will. He’s desperate so there’s no way he’ll turn us away. Now, are you coming or not?” as he descends down the stairs John is tempted to stay right where he is, but after all his time spent with Sherlock and the thought of Annabelle being his only company he quickly runs down the stairs and dives in the cab just in time.

Sherlock just grins smugly as Annabelle babbles happily.

* * *

The crime scene isn’t too terribly far, fifteen minutes if the traffic wasn’t heavy and near enough to the tube that they could always take it home need it be. It’s in a large brick house tucked away on a corner in a nice and obviously wealthy neighborhood, not hard to miss on account of the numerous flashing lights and officers that flag the front and the surrounding area.

Sherlock has the taxi stop a few yards away, hopping out after he throws some bills overt the seat and John follows wearily. He doesn’t like this and the fear of Molly finding out from almost anyone at this scene makes him feel a bit queasy.

 They make their way to the front of the house, trying to ignore the stairs and the obvious laughter pointed in their direction. They see Sally standing behind the yellow tape, trying to hide a grin and failing miserably.

“Well, looks like you really can’t stay away can you Holmes?” she glances down at the baby and her brow furrows, she knows there’s no way Lestrade is going to let him in like this.

“I haven’t got time for small talk Sergeant. I need to go see Lestrade.” Biting her lip Sally contemplates not letting him through, but in the end she figures he’ll end up finding a way and she lifts the tape to let him by, meeting John’s gaze.

“You’ll keep an eye on them?” she asks. The doctor gives a nod that suggests it’s the only reason he’s here and Sally doesn’t doubt it one bit. Somewhat satisfied she watches them approach the front door and sighs. She would never get tired of this job.

The inside of the house is as nice as the outside, with pure white walls and delicate furniture filling each room. The body is upstairs in the master bedroom and they find Lestrade standing outside the door, his face morphing into shock and embarrassment when he sees the trio walking towards him.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Christ, really Sherlock? You know she can’t be here; this is a murder scene.” The inspector leans against the cream colored wall and pinches the bridge of his nose and John has a strong urge to run all the way back to Baker Street.

Finally Lestrade straightens up and points inside the bedroom. “You have five minutes, but she stays out here.”

Sherlock offers an eye roll but for once there’s no arguing. He has John remove Annabelle from the carrier and the doctor holds her close and takes her down the hallway, away from the commotion. He pulls out his phone and glances at the time, chewing his lip and realizing they’ve got less than two hours before Molly will be back at Baker Street to meet them. He pockets the device again and turns around when he hears muffled yelling coming from the bedroom and Sherlock comes storming out followed by Anderson and Lestrade.

“I’m telling you that you are wrong. All of you are wrong. This man was clearly killed by someone he knew; not a random burglar.” Sherlock shouts, throwing his hands in the air. John can tell this is quickly going downhill and while holding Annabelle closer to him he grabs Sherlock’s arm and heads for the staircase.

He calls over his shoulder to Lestrade. “We’ll be in touch; you know where to find us.”

They quickly leave the house, ignoring Sally’s ‘I told you so’ stare and heading back to the main road to catch another cab. If they’re lucky and traffic isn’t bad they should make it back before Molly gets home. John thinks perhaps he shouldn’t hold his breath.

* * *

It’s been years since John Watson felt as uncomfortable as he does now.

Under the scalding gaze of one Molly Hooper, the urge to crawl under a rock and never come out has never been so strong. Beside him Sherlock seems to be faring much better, completely stoic and unaware of the trouble that’s headed their way.

After what seems like an eternity of silence Molly speaks. “So Sherlock, what have you got to say this time?” she looks pointedly at the detective who squirms slightly, but never breaks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?” he tells her, his voice smooth and even. In that moment John almost envies the man’s ability to lie right through his teeth.

“Oh don’t give me that rubbish, you know exactly what I’m talking about! You took our daughter to crime scene for bloody crying out loud.” her voice raises to a level John’s never heard, anger mixed throughout. It sounds nothing like the Molly he knows and he wonders just how badly they’ve managed to screw up.

Apparently though, the thought is not cast on to Sherlock, and all he offers is an eye roll. “Oh come on, it’s nothing serious. I wore that ridiculous pouch anyways like you said.”

Molly’s hands ball into fists as she inches closer to him. “That’s not the point! The point I’m trying to make is that this is one of the most irresponsible and selfish things you’ve done Sherlock. And until you realize that I’m not sure I want to be around you.”

She whips around on her heels and disappears downstairs where Mrs. Hudson has Annabelle and the two men, one slightly more stunned than the other, sit on the couch in silence. Sherlock turns to John and the doctor admits that he looks terribly regretful.

“I suppose that wasn’t my best idea?” he asks and all John can do is laugh, shaking his head.

“Far from it my friend; but you know there’s still time to apologize right?” Sherlock sighs, rising from the couch and heading to the door, slipping on his coat.

He stand outside Molly’s flat longer than necessary, trying to find the words to make things better but coming up empty handed. Frustrated and somewhat exhausted he knocks on the door, ready for the day to be over and for Molly’s anger to be gone.

She must know it’s him before she even opens the door because she watches him with her arms crossed and head cocked to the side, obviously not surprised. Without a word she opens the door and lets him in.

They go to the kitchen where Molly’s cooking and she returns to her spot by the counter where she begins cutting up potatoes. The stony silence makes Sherlock uncomfortable and he shifts on his feet, running a hand through his hair.

“Is she asleep?” he asks, referring to Annabelle. Without looking up from her task Molly nods, her ponytail bouncing. Sherlock wishes she would just say something to him but he knows deep down it’s his mess and he’s the one who needs to fix it. He takes a step closer to her and stills her hand with his own.

“Molly, look at me please?” grudgingly, she obliges and glances up, meeting green eyes. She purses her lips and waits as Sherlock inhales deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry for being so irresponsible and making you doubt me. It’s the last thing I want.” he leans in and presses his lips to her neck, the soft flesh just below her ear.

“Can you forgive me?” the ache in his gut intensifies as he waits for her answer, because he’s scared to lose her. After all this time spent fighting he fears being the one to lose it all. But just like she does every time, Molly Hooper swoops in to save the day.

“Of course I can, you idiot.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

** Twenty nine weeks old **

As October comes to an end and the air takes on a seemingly permanent chill Molly realizes Halloween is just around the corner.

Memories of her childhood come back to her, warming her heart when she thinks about sharing the same traditions with her daughter. She looks down at the costume in her hand and smiles, running her hand over the fabric and glancing across the room at Sherlock sitting on the bed with Annabelle in his lap.

She approaches them and bends down to press a kiss to his cheek, showing him the garment in her hand and somewhat fearing his reaction. She has a feeling traditions don’t have a place in his past.

“Do you like it?” she asks, as hopeful as she can be. “My mother put me in it when I was about her age. I think it’s only right if this is her first costume too.”

She watches Sherlock wrinkle his nose slightly but he looks up at her and smiles anyways, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief. As time had worn on Sherlock had begun to take her feelings into account, something that had both surprised her and made her thankful he was hers.

“Are you sure you like it?” she asks as she chews her lip. She may admire his ability to regard her feelings but she wants him to be truthful with her as well. The one thing she fears is living a life where they both have to pretend.

“I’m sure,” he tells her firmly, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “If you like it than I say she wears it. Although I’m not sure why it’s necessary. She’s too young to eat candy and it’s far too cold for her to be outside.”

Through a smile and an eye roll Molly waves off his protectiveness and scoops Annabelle up, tugging off her tiny dress off and unbuttoning the costume. “We’re not going trick or treating; Mary’s invited us to a Halloween party at her place.”

Sherlock scoffs, “a party? Is a party really needed? It’s bloody Halloween.”

Molly shoots him a look that sends him into silence as she finishes the final button on the costume and lifts Annabelle up for her father to see. “Well? What do you think?”

He can’t help but smile as he takes the smiling baby into his arms and smoothes her hair back. “You were a bumblebee for Halloween?”

Molly feels her cheeks blush as she nods. “Yes, my mother thought yellow would suit me. Leave it to her to style a baby like that.”

She moves across the room and into the bathroom, picking up her brush and running it through her hair. She wears a blue dress that hits at the knees and cinches in at her waist while her hair is down and waving around her shoulders.

She hears his footsteps behind her, sees him in the mirror carrying Annabelle on his hip and they’re both smiling. He leans against the door frame and watches her.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her and the sincerity and love laced in his words makes her feel like a teenager again. She turns around and stands on her tiptoes, pecking his lips before moving over and kissing her daughters forehead.

“I love you. Both of you.”

* * *

Sherlock has never been to Mary’s house before.

He remembers John inviting him over a couple of times along with Molly but he always manages to find a new excuse to stay away. He wasn’t a people person and he’d rather be alone with Molly. But tonight he puts on a smile and politely responds to everyone who introduces themselves, keeping his deductions safe in the confines of his mind.

The last thing he needs is an embarrassed Molly and an angry John.

He holds Annabelle close to him as Molly goes to find Mary and say her hellos, watching the other children around him play and laugh and it makes him fear the day his little girl will be grown up. A hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality and he turns and meets John who smiles widely.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” he says and Sherlock winces slightly when he realizes that if it hadn’t been for Molly he probably wouldn’t have. Pushing the thought aside he shakes Johns hand and they move to a quieter part of the house and sit on the couch.

John smiles at Annabelle in her costume and takes her into his arms, bouncing her on his knee. “It’s been a while since you lot have been over,” he says casually although the looks in his eyes suggest he’s thinking something bigger.

“We’ve been busy,” Sherlock responds truthfully, feeling a tinge of regret. He truly does miss his best friend.

John shrugs and flicks one of the antennas on the costume, looking at Sherlock. “I’m guessing this wasn’t your work?”

Sherlock looks appalled at the suggestion and the two men burst into a fit of laughter, drawing the attention of those around them. It feels like old times and they hang on to the moment as long as they can.

John runs a hand over his face and suddenly his eyes take on a serious look and he watches Sherlock, contemplating.

“Sherlock can I ask you something?” Sherlock looks back at him and nods slowly.

“I think I’m going to propose to Mary, and I wanted to know if you think I’m in over my head… and before you try and sell me that crap about you not being good at relationships I’m gonna tell you to shut it. You obviously know way more than you think.” He looks pointedly at his best friend and Sherlock sees the fear in his eyes.

The fear of losing someone else he loves. He can’t even think about the possibility of losing Molly. 

So after clearing his throat he puts his hand on John’s knee, because he wants him to know he will always be there no matter what happens. Because he owes him that much.

“Do you love her?” Sherlock asks. John looks at him like he’s crazy and nods.

“Alright then, and does she love you?”

“Yeah, she does Sherlock. Or at least I hope she does.”

“Then ask her. If she loves you the way you love her there’s no reason for you not to ask.” He shrugs his shoulders and wonders why so many people don’t think of it as being that simple. He quietly pities them in his mind.

“You know it’s truly a miracle… how fast you grew up that is.” John suddenly says and shakes his head. Sherlock looks up and sees him grinning at the baby in his lap. He’s proud of himself too.

* * *

They leave the party early enough that they can get Annabelle bathed and in bed and the conversation with John stays in Sherlock’s mind the whole time.

He’s never thought of marriage before, has kept it tucked away in the very back of his mind where it’s now covered in dust. He never planned on finding a girl, never planned on being a father or any of the things he is today.

So when John talks of moving on with his life and doing things that are so normal to other people he begins to wonder if he should be following suit. He just wants what’s best for his family.

So when Molly comes into the bedroom that night after putting Annabelle down Sherlock rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, waiting. He feels Molly’s head over his heart, her breath tickling him. He clears his throat to catch her attention.

“Something on your mind?” she teases. He runs a and through her hair and wonders if he should. He doesn’t want to scare her away but then he remembers everything he’s put her through and the idea is borderline ridiculous.

“Do you want to get married? Someday that is, in the future.” He feels her body tense, her pulse elevating as she turns in his arms and looks up at him.

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I guess it would be nice to call you my husband. What brought this on though? If it’s about Annabelle then I want you to know Sherlock we don’t have to do this just because it’s the right thing to do.”

Taken aback by her words Sherlock sits up, flicking on the lamp beside him so he can see her face. “Is that why you think I’m asking? Because it’s my duty after everything I’ve done?”

Molly groans and tangles her fingers in her hair. “No Sherlock, you know what I mean. I’m just saying we don’t have to rush in to anything. I’m perfectly fine with us taking our time.” She climbs into his lap and takes his face in her hands. As long as I can be with you; that’s all I want.”

And with that they seem to melt together, a blur of touches and kisses and swollen red lips. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at the same time, bringing back memories of a painful past and at the same time creating new memories and bonds that bind them forever.

When it’s over he holds her close and savors her warmth, listening to her breathing even out when she succumbs to sleep. he’s about to close his eyes when his phone chimes on the table beside him and he rolls over to grab it.

He taps the screen and sees one text from John. He feels the smile spread across his face, so wide it makes his cheeks ache.

_She said yes._


	12. Chapter 12

** Thirty two weeks old **

With his umbrella in hand Mycroft Holmes stands beside the park bench, watching the movements of those around him. His mind was always stuck on the possibility of something gone wrong, work etching itself so deep within that sometimes it took everything he had to pull himself away.

And sometimes he even needed the help of his brother to do so.

 He assumes it’s enough to explain his presence in a place so far from his office where the fresh air circulates around him and he can smell more than cigarette smoke and expensive brandy. But still, he feels so out of place.

He glances over his shoulder and his eyes lock on his younger brother and Molly Hooper, pushing a stroller towards him and waving. He puts on a smile that suggests he’s about to do business, because really he feels that’s all he knows. With a breath for courage and the hope that things go smoothly he approaches the family.

“Brother,” he greets, nodding in his direction. Sherlock merely grunts at his presence but Molly gives him a swift knead to the ribs with her elbow and he paints a forced, pain filled smile on his face. Mycroft just smirks.

“Nice to see you Ms. Hooper,” he says and Molly blushes just she slightest bit. “Please Mycroft, Molly will do just fine.” She reaches out and captures him in a hug and his body tenses in reaction. For some reason though it feels almost natural and he awkwardly pats her on the back with one hand before she lets go.

Bouncing back to Sherlock excitedly she reaches into the stroller and undoes the belt, scooping Annabelle into her arms and adjusting her tiny jacket. Mycroft feels the breath leave his lungs when he sees the tiny human who looks practically like a carbon copy of his brother and the corners of his mouth tip up the slightest bit. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock, who plops down on the bench they’re next to.

“This should have happened long ago,” he says to the air, although Mycroft feels the brunt of the words hit him in the chest. He clears his throat and sits down too.

“I suppose so. Although I’ve been very busy cleaning up the remains of your mess. You do know that things like that don’t disappear on their own right? They take time.” Sherlock just rolls his eyes in response.

“Oh, won’t the two of you just give it up for one day,” Molly interrupts, carrying Annabelle on her hip and standing in front of the pair. “You two are horrible influences you know.” She sits down in between the two as a means to keep them separated, and she plops the baby down on her lap, who makes immediate work of chewing on the sleeve of her coat.

Mycroft glances down and admires the child- his niece, cocking his head to one side and watching her ‘talk’ excitedly to Sherlock as he tickles and plays with her. He wonders how his little brother grew up so fast and took on the role that was once his so long ago.

He feels his cellphone vibrate in his pocket and he reaches into his coat, reading a message from Anthea he’ll have to remember to reply to later. He takes a moment to scroll through his emails, his attention focused almost completely on his phone. So much so that the tiny hand that reaches out and lands on his takes him by complete surprise.

He glances up, sees Annabelle looking at him and smiling with bright eyes. He’s vaguely aware of Molly and Sherlock watching them, but he blocks them out and takes the tiny hand in his, shaking it lightly and smiling- a genuine, happy smile.

He turns his eyes onto Molly, “May I?” he asks, and when she nods he pulls the baby into his lap and takes a moment to become acquainted with the feel of her in his arms. Like a reflex he can’t control, his knee starts bouncing and both of them are completely engrossed in each other.

Beside them Molly is almost in tears, becoming ever so sentimental after Annabelle was born and feeling like this was as much of a first as sitting up or smiling. And then there’s Sherlock, who looks impossibly bored and a tad bit humored.

Inside though, he feels relieved that his brother shows as much love for his niece and girlfriend as he does and he’s given a sense of hope for the future. All he wants is to have the family he wishes he had, and he wants nothing more than for his little girl to have a father that cherishes her and a mother that is there whenever she needs. And the prospect of having a soldier, a detective inspector and a government worker for uncles isn’t so bad either.

“Mycroft you should have dinner with us one night,” Molly announces out of nowhere, “we don’t see enough of you and it’s apparent you’ve already made yourself pretty popular?” she points a finger at Annabelle and watches her play with Mycroft’s tie.

Beside her Sherlock sits up and folds his arms across his chest with an almost silent huff. “Let’s not get too carried away Molly. He’s only meant to be tolerated in small doses.”

“Oh be nice Sherlock,” she scolds him like a child and he blinks in surprise. “He’s your brother and he needs to come around a little more. You can’t just expect him to busy himself with work forever can you?”

“Well…” he stops midsentence and takes in the glare directed at him, his mouth shutting almost instantly.

Slightly disappointed and a bit embarrassed he looks over at his brother and says quite forcefully, “We’d love to have you.” Mycroft shrugs off his brother’s obvious distaste regarding the suggestion and turns to Molly instead.

“I think I can squeeze dinner in sometime soon.”

Internally Sherlock groans and leans back against the bench, almost pouting and only hearing bits and pieces of the conversation going on beside him. With another glance in his brothers direction he can’t help but be thankful that they were finally coming back together; all because of one little girl that changed all of their lives in a matter of moments


	13. Chapter 13

** Thirty four weeks old **

When the weather becomes cloudy and filled with rain, Annabelle and Sherlock spend their days inside while Molly and John are at work. He finds it hard to be bored now that his daughter is desperate to move around, constantly crawling around and keeping him on his toes.

After she awakes from her nap he pads into the nursery, looking into her crib and seeing her big eyes watching him as she kicked her chubby little legs. She always had so much energy after she woke. He reaches his hand inside and smoothes her curls back before he hoists her onto his hip.

Sherlock takes her into the living room and sets her down in the middle of the floor, offering her an array of her toys that seem to take up most of the space in the house. Every nook and cranny seems to be occupied by some form of stuffed animal or book or puzzle. It makes walking the halls at night a dangerous situation. When she takes an interest in a few colored blocks he hands her he puts his hands on his hips, watching her closely for a few moments.

“Well young lady, you keep yourself busy here while I go find something for dinner.” He decides that since Molly had been called in at a ridiculous hour this morning for a rushed report on a high profile body that it was only fair he cooked dinner. He considers the microwave and anything that comes out of a box cooking.

He makes sure Annabelle is completely immersed in the pile of toys she has before he turns on his heels and heads to the kitchen. He opens the fridge, feeling his lips turn downwards as he stares at the complete lack of anything. He makes a note to go to the grocery tomorrow.

He sighs and turns to the cabinets, finding a box of spaghetti noodles and a jar of tomato sauce. He figures it will have to do. He puts a pot of water on the stove and dumps the can into a sauce pan, moving back to the living room to check on Annabelle.

Sherlock turns the corner and stops dead when he sees the empty rug and the abandoned toys sitting where he had left them but there was definitely no baby. He swallows thickly and walks into the room completely, making sure to check behind the couch and even in the toy bin. Nothing.

“Annabelle?” he calls her name, praying he sees her crawling to him but the room is still empty except for him and the rest of the house is silent. When he glances at the clock he feels the impending doom set in when he realizes Molly will be home very, very soon. Even though he tells himself there’s no need to panic, he feels his steady frame of mind slip away.

All of the windows are sealed shut and he had taken the precaution of locking the front door behind Molly when she left this morning, so there was no way anyone had gotten in or out. In that moment he even contemplates calling the police, or even his brother. 

In his sudden state of desperation he does the only thing that makes sense to him right now, dropping down onto all fours and crawling around the room, calling her name. He finds the living room is completely empty, so he makes his way down the hallway, stopping at the bathroom and her nursery; going through the hamper and the dressers but both rooms are empty.

Molly’s flat is fairly small so he knows there are only so many places he can look, and as he crawls out of the bathroom he knows he’s running out of options. Scrambling as fast as he can he goes to the bedroom, looking in the closet and finding nothing; but as he crawls over to the bed and lifts the edge of the blankets, his lips curling into an amused smile.

He’s so distracted in fact that he doesn’t even hear the key turn in the lock or the sound of the footsteps coming down the hallway behind him. Sherlock does however freeze when he hears the sound of a throat being cleared and he slowly turns his head, looking up at Molly. She looks more concerned for his mental state than anything else.

“I’m only going to ask once,” she says, massaging her temples.  “What on earth are you doing on the floor like that?” Sherlock smiles widely and ushers her to join him, lifting up the sheets again as she peers beneath.

When Molly gets down before him she peers beneath the bed at whatever Sherlock was distracted by and she feels her heart melt at the sight of her daughter curled up with one of Sherlock’s shirts, fast asleep.

“What on Earth is she doing under there?” she asks, reaching out and pulling the infant towards her. She stirs momentarily but when she recognizes her mother she snuggles against her chest and her green eyes close once more.

“I was making dinner,” he shrugs before his eyes widen and his hands fly up into the air. He rushes out of the room, leaving Molly confused and slightly bewildered.

She shakes off Sherlock’s general weirdness and carries Annabelle to the nursery, tucking her into her bed and kissing her before she turns out the light. When she’s just a few feet from the kitchen she sees a cloud of smoke filtering out and she internally groans.

Peeking around the corner she watches Sherlock wave a dish cloth in the air in an attempt to clear out some of the smoke, a burnt pot of tomato sauce sitting on the stove. Trying her best to hide her laughter she turns off the burners and shoves Sherlock into the living room.

With her hands on her hips she surveys the damage and bites her lip. She had no energy to deal with this today. Reaching out for the nearest takeout menu she picks up her phone and vows that Sherlock is getting cooking lessons for Christmas. 


	14. Chapter 14

** Thirty seven weeks old **

Much to everyone’s delight, it snows on Christmas Eve.

It falls in thick flakes and covers the ground in a shimmering blanket of white, making the city look like a scene out of a movie as the people are busy shopping for last minute things and going home to their families. In 221B Baker Street, the living room is full of people and bathed in the light coming from the fire place. It’s a small gathering of friends and family, all piled into the room and talking while Sherlock (who was practically bombarded by Mrs. Hudson the moment he stepped inside) occasionally plays a song on his violin.

The air is filled with the sound of chatter, everyone talking at once and creating a low rumble that circulates through the flat. Molly takes a quick head count, feeling like something or someone seems to be missing from their group. And sure enough she notices the absence of Greg, who should have been there at least half an hour ago. She bites her lip, wonders if she should be worried and then decides to wait a little longer. If he didn’t show up by seven she would ask John about it.

Lifting Annabelle onto her hip and adjusting her red dress she’s picked out just for this occasion she goes in search of Sherlock who’s disappeared, suddenly missing his presence on the couch next to her. She turns the corner and goes down the hall, seeing the door to his bedroom open and the light on. She’s almost positive it wasn’t on before.

 She peers inside and sees him sitting on the bed, holding a stuffed animal in his hands and looking around the room longingly. Some of his things are still here; he hasn’t had the chance to come back for them yet. It looks so much bigger than she last remembered it even with the rocking chair still tucked in the corner.

She takes a step inside and the floorboard creaks beneath her feet, Sherlock’s head shooting up at the sound of it. His shoulders relax when he sees Molly and she comes to sit beside him. He leans over and kisses her cheek, handing Annabelle the toy and watching her face light up. She notices the lack of enthusiasm in his eyes, replaced by something she can’t read.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter?” she lets the worry slip into her voice and he smiles, tries to show her there’s nothing to worry about.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he sighs, “things are just changing; quicker than I expected them too. Pretty soon John will have a wife and we’ll be living on our own, hopefully in something besides your flat because honestly it’s getting cramped in there, and soon we’ll all be in different places and-“ Molly silences him with a finger to the lips, stifling a giggle.

“You know you sound like all the girls in my high school the day before we graduated, assuming we’re all going to go away with a plan to never see each other again. But really Sherlock that only happens if you have no intentions of keeping in touch. Things are changing but only for the better, we’ll still see John and Mary and we’ll still be the same big family we are now.” She catches his lips in a kiss, sealing the promise and letting him know he’s not alone. He never really has been.

“I love you,” he says when she pulls back, sincerity burning in his green orbs. Molly just looks at him, realizing this is the first time he’s admitted it out loud and surprisingly she’s speechless. But it only takes a moment for her to pull herself together.

“I love you too,” she whispers, and then she breaks off in one of those breathless laughs that seemed to slip out in his presence.  

The silence that falls around them only lasts for a moment before she stands up without warning and balances Annabelle in one arm and with the other grabs Sherlock’s hand, bringing him to his feet. She thinks he needs to cheer up and being stuck in his old bedroom all night isn’t going to do it for him. They’re making their way back down the hallway when they hear the noise coming from the living room and Molly internally sighs in relief when she sees Greg standing by the fire, getting wrapped in a hug by Mrs. Hudson. She kisses Sherlock’s cheek and leaves him to talk to John, going over to say her own hello.

Greg’s expression is less than excited, a forced smile playing on his lips while he’s in the presence of other people. Molly wonders if he and his wife are finally done for good; the last time Sherlock had gone off on one of his deducing rampages at their last get together he had said something about her still sneaking around. How he knew that was beyond her but according to Greg’s face then she assumed it was true. When the detective looks up at her he smiles, it comes off as strained and fake as he leans in and kisses her cheek in greeting.

“Merry Christmas!” she says, trying her best to sound cheery. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show up.”

He shrugs his shoulders and leans against the mantle, “I actually contemplated whether I would or not. But then I remembered Mrs. Hudson was cooking and the bar is only open until eleven tonight.” 

Molly laughs, tries to keep the seriousness out of the conversation and switches Annabelle to her other arm, pushing the curls out of her face. “Oh well I’m glad you’ve come. Besides, you can’t find this kind of entertainment at a bar.”

She nods to the other side of the room where John and Sherlock are fighting over the TV remote as Mrs. Hudson comes over and takes it from them, her stern gaze almost enough to burn a hold through them. They slink back to the couch like scolded children and cross their arms over their chests. The little scene actually gets a laugh out of Greg, a sincere and humored laugh that lights up his eyes.

He’s about to open his mouth and reply but he stops when Annabelle begins to fuss and holds her arms out for him, struggling in her mothers arms. Molly smiles and gauges the reaction. Greg bites his lip, looking at the little girl before he looks at Molly for permission. She nods her head and he scoops Annabelle up and holds her close to his chest, his face lighting up as she babbles and grabs a hold of his tie.

Molly looks absolutely ecstatic and claps her hands together and wishes she could get a picture of the moment. Greg adores Annabelle but they never see much of him, only on the occasion that he stops by and asks for Sherlock’s help on a case or Molly bumps into him at the morgue. She’s glad to see the two so happy.

“You’re good with her,” she compliments, “normally someone can’t hold onto her for five minutes before she goes looking for Sherlock.”

She shakes her head at the mention of her boyfriend, glances behind her and sees him alone on the couch, the remote somehow in his hands as he flips mindlessly through the channels. She rolls her eyes and looks at Greg.

“Can you keep a hold of her for a minute, I need to go pry that remote from his hands and get him talking to some people. He gets so excited to come over today and then all he does is watch that bloody TV.” She whisks off in Sherlock’s direction and Greg chuckles.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are to have parents who love each other the way those two do. I can tell already you’re going to be just fine.” He kisses her forehead and decides the join the others as Mrs. Hudson brings out more food and demands Sherlock play another song. 

Maybe it’s not that bad of a Christmas after all.  


	15. Chapter 15

** Forty weeks old **

For the most part Sherlock thinks of Molly as a sound sleeper. She doesn’t stir much, only when she rolls over or snuggles closer to him for the warmth his body gives. He still doesn’t sleep as much as he should; spends the nights he stays awake watching her and the serene look on her face as her chest rises and falls or sneaks to the nursery and does the same with Annabelle.

There’s one night in particular that never seems to leave his mind. He had, for the most part, managed to fall asleep soon after Molly does, her body pressed against his as she softly snored. He figures he sleeps for about two hours before he hears the yelling and the whimpering. His first instinct is that it’s coming from the baby monitor but when he opens his eyes he sees Molly tossing and turning beside him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was still asleep.

Sherlock sits up quickly and puts a hand on Molly’s arm but it doesn’t seem to faze her so he shakes her slightly, the knot in his stomach tightening when she doesn’t wake up and lets out another yelp. He grabs both her shoulders this time and calls her name, watching as her eyes shoot open and she gasps, collapsing in his arms and sobbing into his night shirt. He’s completely taken aback.

“Shh, love it’s alright. Look at me, you’re alright.” He chants the words over and over as he rubs circles on her back. Her sobs eventually fade until all he hears is an occasional whimper or sniffle. She keeps her head buried in his chest as if she’s ashamed, and it’s not until he gently pulls back that he looks into her eyes and sees something that looks like fear and heartbreak all mixed together.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles as she wipes at her eyes, “I had a dream, nothing to worry about.” She tries hard to play it off but to Sherlock she is practically transparent. He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, stroking her cheek.

“What was it about? Obviously something that scared you.” Molly stares down at her hands in her lap, picks at her fingernail and avoids his wondering gaze. But his eyes seem to burn into her and she looks up, waving the white flag and sighing heavily and she snuggles into the save haven of his body.

“It was about you.” Is all she says. Sherlock stops, his fingers tangled in her hair as he looks down at her. He gnaws at his bottom lip, doesn’t know what to think. Molly breaks the silent barrier he’s created around them, can’t stand the lack of noise when her mind is still reeling from the reality of her dream.

 “I’ve had the dream before; a few times when you were gone. Do you remember when you came over with that horrible stab wound and you nearly bled out on my couch?” he nods deafly because of course he remembers, he nearly died. And he expected her to fix it.

“After that I started having these nightmares about you dying and I couldn’t save you. I can hear your voice but I can never find you, all I can hear is you calling for me.” She shakes her head as her voice cracks slightly, drops to a whisper. “I know it’s not real but the voices are so loud and I can’t stop them. They just come out of nowhere; this is the first I’ve had in a while.”

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and holds Molly close, trying to get a grip on his emotions as guilt wells up inside of him at an alarming rate. He had never thanked her after that and he had been so wrapped up in saving John and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson that he hadn’t even thought of the impact the entire year had on her.

He bites back a sigh and kisses the top of Molly’s head, tells her he’ll be right back before he slips out of bed and disappears down the hallway. She tries to protest but her body is exhausted and her eyes are swollen and sore from crying. She snuggles back in the covers just as Sherlock reappears in the doorway, carrying Annabelle who blinks sleepily.

“You’re a lot calmer when you’re holding her,” he explains when she raises an eyebrow. He gets back into bed and lets Molly take the baby from his arms, bringing her close and kissing her head. She still smells like baby powder and soap, innocent and all hers. She snuggles against her mother and her little eyes fight hard to stay open.

She looks at Sherlock again, smiles up at him and lies against his chest. His heart beats loud and steady beneath her and lets her know he’s alright. It brings some comfort to her to have her family around her. In some ways she figures Sherlock has saved her as many times as she’s saved him even if he isn’t aware of it.

He drags her away from his thoughts when he whispers her name, so soft she can barely hear him. She reaches up and brushes his hair back, wants to feel him beneath her fingertips. He’s warm and so very alive.

“I just want you to know Molly I’m never leaving again. You’re never going to see me like that ever, I promise alright?” his voice is a low rumble she can feel vibrating his chest, his eyes locked onto hers and waiting for her response. She smiles, one corner of her mouth tipping up slightly. She wants to say something but all the words have left her mind and all she can see is him.

So she kisses him, soft and sweet and with everything she’s got.

It’s all the answer he needs.

 


	16. Chapter 16

** Forty two weeks old **

On a cold and cloudy Saturday in January Sherlock takes a case much to Molly’s disappointment.

He stands at the front door with John standing at his side, actually excited to be doing something exciting with his friend again. He likes to think his healing process is slowly coming to a successful end.

Across the living room Molly folds her arms across her chest in protest, wishes he would listen to her but she can see the adrenaline taking effect and the light in his eyes at the prospect of adapting some of his old life. And it’s not that she minds him helping out, knows he thrives of things like this even today.

But it’s her only day off for the week and she wants to spend it with him and Annabelle. Lounging in their bed and listening to the senseless noise of the television or whatever else seems to come up. She likes the relaxed feeling, the ability to just do whatever comes their way.

Of course Sherlock is still Sherlock and he doesn’t notice the longing for him to stay that reflects in her eyes, he only tells her he’ll be back soon as she calls after him and casts John a sad look before he runs out after Sherlock and waves. It’s the only time he takes advice from his friend on what not to do next time Mary wishes him to stay with her.

They hail a cab and climb inside, shiver against the cold rain that makes their stick to their skin and runs off their coats. There’s no talking at first, John’s too scared to speak and Sherlock seems to have locked himself away in his mind as he reads the text Lestrade sent him. The gears are obviously spinning madly in his head, trying to squeeze whatever information he can from the words. It’s not until he slips the phone back in his pocket that John clears his throat, shifts slightly in his seat.

Sherlock let’s out an annoyed sigh but doesn’t look in his direction. “Something on your mind?” he drawls. John licks his lips and stares out the window.

“Perhaps we could’ve waited for another case? This is Molly’s one day off you know, I think it’d be best spent with her and not some dead body in a cold wet alley way. This is the third case you’ve taken in place of her in less than a month too.” He lets the accusing tone slip into his words but he’s not surprised when it goes over Sherlock’s head and the detective waves his hand through the air, making John bite back a retort.

“There will be plenty of time when we get back John, going by the few details Lestrade sent this could very possibly be and open and close case.”

John quirks an eyebrow, “what happened to not taking anything less than a seven?” Sherlock wrinkles his nose at the question, looks at John like he has no sense and the doctor feels a sense of familiarity wash over him, accompanied by annoyance as well. There are some aspects of Sherlock he’s beginning to realize he doesn’t miss as much.

“I threw that rule out months ago. Not enough cases over these last months, we can’t afford to be picky anymore.” John just sighs and settles into his seat. It’s going to be a long day.

They come to their scene that’s at least twenty minutes away, in a dirty alley where the body of a man lays face down in a puddle, blood pooling around his head. John huffs out a breath, bends down and looks at the body but he doesn’t see anything that isn’t fairly obvious so he opts to keep his mouth shut.

He listens to the arguing between Anderson and Sherlock, shakes his head and looks around at the walls on either side of him and takes a few steps. When he turns around he sees Sherlock doing whatever it is Sherlock does and decides to sit back and wait, going to lean against one of the squad cars beside Sally who nods at him in greeting.

They watch closely, him in wonder and the rest of them in annoyance as he spews off words so fast some people have a blank look on their face. John’s used to it by now, just listens carefully and waits for Sherlock to shout the answer to them all.

In the end it’s as simple as he suggests; the clerk from the shop next door, a petty argument over the use of the alley that separates the buildings and a very bloody hammer that’s found behind the counter. John’s just happy they get to go back home. He’s forgotten how boring cases like this can be and he figures if he’s going to stand in the rain all day it will be for nothing less than a seven. 

* * *

 

The sun is barely visible when they get back to Sherlock and Molly’s flat and john refuses to go inside.

He doesn’t want to be responsible for the anger that is sure to stem from them being hours late. They can’t even blame it on the traffic this time either. When he thinks about it it’s actually a combination of Sherlock and Anderson’s faults; their immaturity levels have reached a record low and John is still reeling from the headache that’s throbbing in the back of his head.

He says a quick goodbye as Sherlock gets out, internally hopes for the best when he goes inside and watches him as he becomes a tiny dot in the back window.  Sherlock straightens his coat and climbs the steps into the house, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

He begins unwinding the scarf from around his neck and looks up, catches a glimpse of Molly leaning against the doorframe with stormy eyes.  He ignores the icy glare, walks to her and tries taking her in his arms but she pulls away and walks a few steps into the living room.

“Molly,” he sighs, throws his hands up in exasperation, “I’m sorry. We ran late at the scene, nothing that will happen again.”  She doesn’t answer him or acknowledge the apology, just picks her phone up off the coffee table and looks at him again.

“She took four steps today.” She says instead, cold and accusing and full of anger. Sherlock’s eyes widen and his stomach sinks; he clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair.

“She walked? By herself?” Molly nods, thrusts the phone in his hands and walks down the hallway, taking angry, quick steps. She turns around before she opens the door, Sherlock can see the hurt and disbelief in her eyes.

“I really thought you were changing for the better Sherlock but lately all you seem to care about are your silly cases. You’ve already missed her first steps, what’s next?  Her first day of school? Riding a bike?” she sniffs and he thinks he can see the shine of tear tracks on her pale cheeks. “I really hope you can get it together, and not just for me but for Annabelle too.”

She shuts the door behind her, leaves him in the middle of the floor with his mouth open, ready to protest and beg for forgiveness. He sees it’s no use tonight and it’s best to let her cool off for the night. The phone is still in his hands when he flops onto the couch with a sigh. He sees the video she’s opened and he taps play as he sucks in a sharp breath.

The picture is shaky but he can see Annabelle standing on wobbly legs like she’s been doing lately, chubby arms holding onto the couch for support. Molly’s voice comes from behind the camera, encouraging and warm. Everything a mother should be.

“Come here love,” she coos, and Annabelle giggles as she lets go of the couch. Her face is uncertain but she dares to let one tiny foot inch forward, the other following behind it as she takes her first step. She does it two more times before she falls, landing in a little heap but still smiling at her mother who is obviously overjoyed.

The video cuts off but Sherlock can’t put the phone down, staring at it for what feels like hours. He feels something trickling down his cheek, swipes his hand across and finds it wet. The guilt and the feeling that he’s failed his little girl is threatening to suffocate him, makes him wonder if he’s really lost himself the way Molly tells him he has.

He stands up and lets the phone fall on the couch, walking as fast as he can to the nursery and tiptoeing inside. It still looks the same as it did when they brought her home, bright yellow walls and toys in every corner. Jungle animals decorating the wall and the gliding rocking chair where he’s rocked her to sleep at least a dozen times still tucked in the corner.

He peers over the crib and sees Annabelle asleep, her little lips parted slightly as she dreams. He bites back what he’s sure is a sob as he watches her, admiring her innocence and the look of peace on her face. He reaches down and brushes her hair back, vowing in that moment that he had to keep himself together if he wanted to be a part of her life.

He knows now that it will never be Molly that keeps her from him; it will only be his fault.  


	17. Chapter 17

** Forty four weeks old **

John and Mary become husband and wife in the middle of February.

It’s a small ceremony that comes with the company of few guests, only the ones that mean the most to the bride and groom. When Sherlock glances around the room that’s decorated with lights and tables with white cloths he only counts a dozen.

He’s learned Mary doesn’t have much when it comes to family, her parents having passed years ago. There are three friends seated at a table in the corner, two of them blonde like she is with kind smiles and one with long black hair and shy eyes. Next is he and Molly, Annabelle on her hip in a bright blue dress everyone seems to have fussed over. He’s no clue where they are right now, probably with Mary if he had to guess.

There’s Mike and Harry too, spread out across the room along with John’s parents. Like he said, small but nice and exactly what John would want. It made the ceremony so much easier.

 He was the best man despite his protests.

It’s not that he didn’t want to really, but the idea of standing in front of everyone and listening to the pastor for however long sounded so dull and boring. But of course, if it was for John than he knew he would do it. Lestrade is there too, chatting to the girl with the dark hair now and smiling a genuine smile that seems to have been absent for much too long.

Deep inside Sherlock is happy for him.

With his fingers curled around the stem of a champagne glass he leans back in his chair, scans the room again and sees John coming toward him with a smile on his face that is so lifting Sherlock can’t help but smile back. He comes over and they hug, something that hasn’t happened since he made his reappearance but for the moment he doesn’t mind.

John eases down in a chair beside him and sighs. “This was nice wasn’t it? Quiet enough for you I hope.”

Sherlock grins and sets the glass aside, hasn’t even taken a sip. He doesn’t want anything to cloud his judgment. Can’t afford to risk it anymore.

“So, how are you and Molly getting along then?” John breaks the silence with the question Sherlock was waiting for. His eyes shift for a second towards the door where Molly and Mary have just appeared, deep in a conversation.

“We’re better.” Is his answer, simple and void of emotion, as if he’s hiding a truth he doesn’t want to face. John frowns but he doesn’t push the subject.

But deep inside he worries about his friends, knows that sometimes people are pushed too far and sometimes there’s no way back to what they had before. He remembers the first night after they had solves the case, Sherlock had come over and taken over his old bedroom for the night, said he needed time to think.

John and Mary had shared a look of worry but agreed, knew they couldn’t turn him away but didn’t think it was best for him to ignore the problem. Then again when did Sherlock actually listen to anyone?

That had been two weeks ago and he was back in Molly’s flat now, the short time away from Annabelle too much for him. He remembers Molly telling him when they shared a lunch break last week that he barely takes his eyes off of her anymore.

She didn’t seem angry at him anymore but there was something in her eyes the doctor couldn’t seem to shake. It looked like uncertainty, as if she wasn’t completely sure Sherlock was what she had been dreaming about. Of course he had just smiled, told her Sherlock is a better man than he lets on before he went back to work. The conversation never left his mind.  

He opens his mouth to offer a reply but the speakers in the room come to life, a slow song drifting out and filling the room with soft music. He offers a good natured groan and stands up.

“Looks like it’s time for more dancing,” he announces, fanning disappointment. He says goodbye to Sherlock and walks across the floor to his bride, takes her in his arms and kisses her. She’s smiles brightly and they seem to melt together, swaying across the floor.

Sherlock watches them and soon he’s watching more people crowd the floor. Lestrade and his new friend, John’s parents. Involuntarily his gaze travels to Molly who sits at a table to his left with Annabelle in her lap. He bites his lip and internally he groans, but he’s so desperate to have _his_ Molly back that he doesn’t even complain.

Standing up and straightening his jacket he moves across the floor until he’s standing in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. She frowns at him, eyebrows raised.

“Dance with me,” he says, holds out one hand and waits for her. She opens her mouth but doesn’t actually say anything. Just looks at him. He rolls his eyes and grins.

“Please dance with me? Both of you?” he asks again but this time grabs her hand and brings her to her feet, takes the baby from her arms and carries her to the middle of the floor with everyone else. She giggles despite the tension still resting between them and lets him wrap an arm around her. Annabelle smiles happily between them as they sway.

“I know this doesn’t fix things, but I want you to know I’m sorry. Sometimes this life doesn’t feel like me, I need a distraction every now and then. And I’ll admit that I got sucked in but no more. I’m not going to miss anything else, alright?” he rests his forehead against her, wants her to know that this life means more to him than anything. He wants her to understand.

Molly presses her lips together and looks at him, meeting his green eyes and seeing so much compassion looking back at her. She presses closer against him and rests her head on his shoulder, kisses the top of her daughters head and knows this is forever. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Forty eight weeks old **

After pestering Sherlock for almost the entire week Molly is able to convince him to go shopping with her for Annabelle’s birthday.

He complains that it’s almost an entire month away, begs her not to drag him along and tries his hardest not to break when she fixes him with sad eyes and a whispered please. In the end, he ends up going shopping.

It’s a weekday so both John and Mary are at work and Mrs. Hudson is out for the day visiting a friend, which leaves the couple with one option when it comes to a last minute babysitter. Mycroft. Molly sees no problem in leaving him to care for his niece; he adored her as much as anyone else and his house was probably one of the safest places in the whole country. Sherlock on the other hand is not so thrilled.

The only difference is that his mind is still entwined in the childhood feud they started decades ago and shows no signs of changing anytime soon. But of course he loses this battle too which is why he’s standing in his brothers living room watching him play with the baby while Sherlock frowns.

He taps his foot on the hardwood floor that’s so shiny he can practically see his reflection and huffs out a breath that catches Mycroft’s attention. He looks up and gives the smug smile that Sherlock hates more than anything in the world.

“If you stand there much longer I’ll assume you’re never going to leave.” He chuckles at his own words and Sherlock grounds his teeth. He crosses his arms, glancing longingly in Annabelle’s direction before his shoulders slump. He really hates this part.

“We’ll be back by five. Don’t forget to call if something goes wrong, more than likely it’s something simple.” He chews his lip, trying to remember if he’s forgotten anything. Mycroft just rolls his eyes and waves him away.

“You worry for nothing, brother. I sometimes think you forget that I practically raised you.”

Sherlock scrunches his nose and scoffs. “And that is exactly why I’m worried.” He retorts. Mycroft glares but doesn’t want to fuel another endless fire so he keeps his mouth shut, he’s learned the hard way that it’s the best thing to do.

When Sherlock is as satisfied as he can be he leans down and kisses his daughters chubby cheek and locks eyes with Mycroft. He knows his brother is going to take care of her but with so many past events trying to plant doubt in his mind he can’t help but worry. He’s so deathly afraid of losing her the way he’s lost others; it clouds his judgment and for once he knows what it’s like for other people. He sympathizes a little more now.

He leaves the house through the extravagant and unnecessary lobby, the bright lights and expensive art pieces around him enough to make him roll his eyes. He pushes through the front door walks down the curved driveway to the car where Molly was waiting, offering him a warm smile when he gets in.

He can tell she’s excited to be going out, but he wonders if she has the same melancholy feeling he gets when he realizes that his little girl is going to be one when it feels like he was holding her for the first time just the other day. He remembers the pure fear that accompanied becoming a father and the moments when he questioned himself alongside others. Now though he sees that everyone, not just him, has grown since Annabelle came into the world and it seems that life shouldn’t be any other way.

Molly seems to sense that something is on his mind because he finds one of her hands on top of his as it rests on his lap, the other on the steering wheel. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, offers a smile and squeezes her fingers.

“Something on your mind?” he ventures. She shakes her head but her eyes are on the city outside the window, watching the people and the cars. Sherlock opens his mouth to ask again but she interrupts before he has the chance.

“l think we should have a party. A birthday party.”  At the word party Sherlock’s eyebrows raise, skepticism shining in his green orbs.

“A party? For a one year old who won’t even remember it?” he lets out a little laugh but Molly’s serious expression makes him stop.

“I know she won’t remember it but it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen. It will only be with family and friends, just something nice at the park or at the flat.”

The more he thinks about the idea and hears the excitement in Molly’s voice he begins to think that it isn’t a bad idea and after a silent moment to contemplate he finds himself agreeing.

“But just something small, I think it’s best if we all meet at the park. No use trying to squeeze everyone into the flat.” She leans over and kisses his cheek then glances out the window at their first stop. She hides a smirk when she sees Sherlock all but drag himself out of the car and slip his hand into hers as they head inside.

* * *

After they leave the third store Molly finally decides she’s had enough shopping for the day, much to Sherlock’s delight.

Now they walk down the crowded sidewalk, steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee in their hands. Molly sips hers and admires the clothes and things she sees in the windows as they pass while Sherlock keeps his eyes ahead of him.

The hand that isn’t holding his cup sits in the pocket of his coat, clutching something tightly while he tries to fight the waves of nausea rolling around in his stomach. He watches Molly as the shopping bags swing in her hand and she looks so young and beautiful that it nearly takes his breath away.

As casually as he can clears his throat, catches her attention. She looks at him, her eyes bright and happy. “Something else on your mind this time?” she chirps. He gives a small chuckle this time.

“I guess you could say that. I was just wondering what you thought about getting married.” He throws the words around as casually as he can, knows it’s a touchy subject between the two and doesn’t want to risk anything. But his question is greeted with silence and he dares look over at Molly.

She’s slowed down almost completely, stopped in front of a tiny shop that looks like a cottage out of a story book and her mouth hangs slightly open. “I thought we talked about this?”

Sherlock pushes back a sigh. “We have, but that was different and I wasn’t thinking about the bigger picture. I wanted to then because I thought it was right, not because I wanted to or you wanted to.” he reaches out takes the bags from her hand and sets them down by his feet.

“I’m asking you now because I want this and I want you. I want all of us to be happy and together as a family and I want to be able to call you my wife like John does with Mary.” He finally pulls his hand out of his pocket, twirling a ring between his fingers as Molly lets out a barely audible gasp.

“I bought this after that last fight. I wanted to give it to you then but I knew it would take more than an expensive piece of jewelry and a rubbish apology to make things better so I decided to wait. And after John’s wedding and seeing how happy he was I knew it’s what I wanted. So I’m asking you Molly Hooper, if you would do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

The question hangs in the air, he lets it sink in and watches Molly try to blink back tears but he knows it’s no use. She’s an emotional person but for once he’s relieved because this time he’s only made her cry tears of what he hopes are joy. He’s done hurting her; he just wants her in his life. So when she looks up and smiles, a breathy laugh escaping between her teeth he’s already  slipping the ring on her finger as she gasps out a, “yes.”

And then he kisses her in the middle of the street, wipes her tears away and sends up a silent thank you to every god he’s ever questioned because his life is continuing to fall into place. 


	19. Chapter 19

** One year old **

On a Thursday in April where the sun shines faintly and a cool breeze blows, Annabelle turns a year old.

The early part of the morning is spent with hugs and kisses, cheering and pancakes for breakfast before Molly begins rushing around to ensure everything is in order before they leave for the park. Sherlock, who just rolls his eyes and hides a grin, sits on the couch and reads books to Annabelle before Molly marches over and hands him a tiny outfit and tells him he’s in charge of getting her ready.

From there things are a little hectic; Annabelle takes her newfound skill (walking) and tries her hardest on still wobbly legs to make his job nearly impossible. Once he catches her and gets her into the tiny pink sweater and blue jeans he plops her down on his lap, brushes her hair and has an internal debate on how exactly the barrettes Molly had given him are supposed to go in her hair.

It takes some adjusting and more than a few tries before he steps back to admire his work, his triumphant smile falling when he sees that there’s a reason he’s not a hairdresser. He frowns and removes them, wonders if he can get away with leaving them out and Molly not noticing. She was so busy that the idea seems pretty plausible but Sherlock doesn’t want to take the chance and he tries once more to get the tiny butterfly shaped clips secure in her dark, curly locks.

Finally, he succeeds just as Molly has finished gathering everything and is ready to leave.  He helps pack everything into the car, buckles Annabelle into her car seat and grabs Molly around the waist, kissing her as she reaches for the door handle. She giggles and catches his lips with her own. She pulls away first, lips curled into one of the widest smiles he’s ever seen.

“Are you ready?” she bounces eagerly on the balls of her feet, her wavy hair swinging with the movement.

“I’ve been ready since we got up,” he smirks, leaning against the car and taking in the woman in front of him. She’s wearing fitted blue jeans and a dark grey sweater that fits her perfectly, so much different than the clothes she used to wear that hid her curves. He can’t help but stare.

And of course Molly takes notice, feels her cheeks flame and wonders how he can still do that to her even after all this time. She swats his arm when she finds him still looking but he pulls her into his arms and kisses her cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters into her hair. She holds on for a moment and lets his warmth sink in. even though she has all the time in the world she can’t help but feel like he’ll slip away, so she takes every opportunity she gets.

“Alright,” she announces, pulling away, “we have to get going or everyone will beat us there.” She slips into the passenger’s seat, waits for him to get in prays everything goes smoothly as Sherlock pulls onto the road.

* * *

Thankfully they get to the park in time for molly to set things up, leaving Sherlock and Annabelle completely bored as they sit on the bench and watch. Every now and then Molly catches a glimpse of them and feels her breath hitch when she realizes how much her daughter has grown to look like Sherlock.

It hadn’t hit her until she woke up this morning that her daughter had reached yet another milestone and she spent the first twenty minutes curled up with Sherlock asking where the time had gone. He of course had no answer for her; she knows he thinks the same thing.

She tries to busy herself with setting up food, blankets and chairs lining a large patch of grass that rested under the sunlight. It was more or less a picnic but she feels it’s perfect, not too big but not too small of a celebration. Now all they had to do was wait.

 Much to Molly’s surprise it’s Greg who shows up first, smiling and dressed in jeans and a sweater, so much different than she’s seen him before. He looks relaxed and genuinely happy, something that makes Molly smile. He was a good man and he deserved better than he had gotten.

As he walks the last few yards to them Sherlock puts Annabelle down and the two watch her teeter towards Greg who scoops her up, earning him a serenade of giggles in response. He shakes hands with Sherlock and the two dive into conversation about work, leaving Molly to shake her head and pick Annabelle up when she comes to her with her arms held out.

She rests her on her hip and offers her a cup from her diaper bag, watching her sip happily on it for a few moments until she sees something and the cup is dropped on the ground. Molly looks up to see what the fuss is about and laughs.

John and Mary are walking towards them with Mrs. Hudson, and Annabelle is desperate to be put back down to get to them. Molly rolls her eyes and sets her on the ground and she meets John halfway before the doctor sweeps her up much like Greg did. Only this time he has Mrs. Hudson to compete with and the older woman successfully gets the little girl from John, handing him a food dish in exchange.

Happy as a clam and relishing all the attention Molly rolls her eyes good naturedly and laughs. “And to think Sherlock says she’s spoiled.”

Mrs. Hudson smiles and sits down in a chair beside Molly, Annabelle content in her lap as they talk. Mary joins them soon after and everyone seems content, talking and laughing. Mycroft eventually finds himself showing up, taking a seat beside John and nodding politely at Greg, listening to the conversation. 

When everyone has shown up they eat, Sherlock feeding Annabelle bites off his fork every now and then while she sits in his lap. By now she’s made sure to visit everyone, traveling from lap to lap until she goes back to her father.

After everyone is full Sherlock decides to take a walk across the park to the pond, holding Annabelle’s hand and letting her walk beside him. Molly looks around and sees Mrs. Hudson and Mary talking about redecorating the flat while Mycroft and Greg seem to be in an animated conversation over something she can’t hear.

She’s cleaning up the plates and cups when John walks up, grabbing another trash bag and throwing things inside. Molly smiles at him gratefully.

“This was really nice,” he tells her, “I know Sherlock appreciates it being so low key.” They both chuckle and shake their heads at him.

Out of pure instinct molly looks up to check on the two, finds them a good distance away playing with a rubber ball from Greg. Sherlock gently rolls it across the grass and Annabelle snatches it up, giggling loudly and trying her hardest to throw it back to him. She’s finally able to tear her eyes away and looks back at John.

“You know it means so much that you all came.” She lets the sincerity drip into her voice and John just waves her off.

“Of course we’d be here. You all mean the world to all of us; we wouldn’t miss this for anything.” He pulls Molly into a hug to prove his point. Sometimes he isn’t sure if she’s really aware how much all three of them mean to him. Sherlock was as good as a brother to him, and to know Molly is there to keep his feet grounded makes it easier for him to sleep at night.

They share an understanding smile before getting back to work.

 The cleanup is almost done and the party is drawing to a close as evening falls. Molly’s surprised to find they’ve been gone the majority of the day, too busy enjoying each other’s company and singing a horribly off key version (courtesy of Sherlock) of Happy Birthday.

Mycroft leaves first, saying a goodbye to everyone before he disappears, slipping into a black car to no one’s surprise. Greg follows soon after and promises Molly he’ll come around for dinner sometime. Soon it’s just Sherlock and Molly left, Annabelle sleeping in his arms while they walk back to the car, fingers intertwined.

* * *

After the sky grows dark and the temperature drops sherlock and Molly make it into their flat.

He cradles Annabelle like a newborn as he carries her to her room, molly trailing behind him and flipping on the light when they walk in. quickly she’s changed into pajamas and tucked into her crib, kissed by both of them.

For a second they both just watch the tiny rise and fall of her chest, marveling at the tiny human being they’re able to call their own. Molly leans her head on Sherlock’s shoulder before she takes his hand in hers and leads him from the room.

Once she shuts the door she pulls him into a kiss, tangling her fingers in his hair. He reciprocates, his hands finding her hips and leading her to the bedroom. He’s desperate to keep a hold of her as they stumble around, finding the bed and collapsing in a heap. Things seem to go in slow motion after that, clothing shed on the floor, ghostly touches and gasping breaths filling the time that seems to go by much too fast.

By the end they’re curled around each other and Molly can hear the beat of his heart as her head rests on his chest. Every now and then she feels him press his lips to her hair or his fingers tracing patterns on her back. Neither of them seem to be capable of sleep, too busy staring at the ceiling and savoring the warmth that comes from their bodies.

The more she lies awake though the more Molly begins to think and reminisce about the last year. It would be foolish to say it wasn’t life changing, half of the proof lying right beside her. Never in a million years did she think she would be able to call Sherlock hers.

Years of pining and being too good of a friend had left her hopeless until Moriarty had come into their lives. After that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to catch her breath. Life was filled with a thousand questions that couldn’t be answered and even more worries.

And when Sherlock had entrusted her with his life she saw a side of him no one else ever would have. He had trusted her when he was the most vulnerable and she spent every minute wondering why. And then they had been blinded by feelings and exhaustion, relief and pure happiness that he had made it out alive.

But that was then things had begun to turn against her and she found herself alone, pushed away by the one person she wanted and needed the most. Of course she didn’t blame him entirely. She seemed to blame everyone and everything then, wondering what had destroyed him so much to make him think he wasn’t deserving of love. When she compares Sherlock now to Sherlock back then she almost doesn’t recognize who he is. He’s made a full transformation, from a bitter, grieving man to a loving father and dedicated boyfriend.

The realization hits her harder than she expected, she’s not even aware she’s crying until Sherlock pulls her closer, looking scared and worried. Quickly Molly wipes the tears away and manages a watery smile.

 “I’m alright,” she assures him. “I was just thinking.” Sherlock seems slightly relieved but he still watches her with a wondering look.

“What were you thinking about?”

Molly sighs and leans back against him. “You. Us. This past year and even before that. We’ve changed so much it’s hard to believe things had ever been the way they were.” She kisses his jaw, lips trailing up to his.

“I love you.” Sherlock smiles into her kiss, feels her melt beneath his touch and whispers gently into her ear.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well if that wasn't a sappy, happily ever after then I don't know what is. Thanks for reading you guys!


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